


The Sable of Skapina

by Rosriel



Series: Sable of Skapina [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Character Death, Childbirth, F/M, Familial Abuse, Fantasy Mercantilism, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Magic, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Original Character(s), Past Character Death, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 56,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25229626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosriel/pseuds/Rosriel
Summary: In chess, sometimes the most memorable games are the abandoned ones. Nikolas remembers every unfinished game he's ever played. The first was with a merchant boy, the second, a Camairan woman and the last, with the scion of dragons.As for Jozin, he has always been bound in chains of three. One was family, two was duty and three was love.At the crossing of their lives is the sable of Skapina.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Sable of Skapina [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919233
Comments: 8
Kudos: 76





	1. Nikolas

The mountains near Skapina was cursed, Nikolas was told, full of wandering beasts and unnatural wights. In his humble opinion, trekking up towards the fortified holding was worse than any beast they could have found. Not only was there multiple instances of frostbite troubling his men, the horses were having trouble following the snowy trail. It would have been better if Lord Pierre did them all a favor and either ambush or attack them. That would at least take off the misery of climbing, squinting and shouting directions to the men stumbling behind him. 

His brother was the only one keen to take a sunny side to the whole situation. 

"Perhaps they've snowed themselves in and gotten lost." Bartholomew said cheerfully, "It's not the first time an early snow got the better of an army."

Nikolas privately thought that his brother was more relieved they didn't have to dig graves or, more recently, burn bodies. Earlier in the war his men had reported a figure shadowing the sentries at night and picking them off one by one. The more imaginative had described a wight, speculating of a vampire flying out of their campsite as daylight came. It was improbable. Not to mention the men were killed by a precise arrow shot, not some fanciful bite or other nonsense. 

Adding to that, reports he'd read before setting off had detailed that Lord Pierre was quite a pious man and would not hire the service of such creatures. In fact, the report had highlighted various witch hunts organized by the man, going so far as bringing them to holdings several days' ride away. The man did not like magic, that was clear. Paranoid was the description the spies had used. It certainly explained how he'd never been directly engaged by Lord Pierre's army, only by a handful of skilled archers. 

It came as a surprise then, to him and his troops that Skapina looked abandoned as they approached. There were ten or so peasant houses outside its walls, none of which blew smoke. Even the gates offered no resistance, swinging open with a wooden groan. 

At first, he thought that it must have fallen foul of a plague, and the Lord had the entire holding evacuated. Then he noticed that several houses still had faint wisps of smoke from their chimneys.  
  


"Go knock on the doors." he ordered his second in command, Ardich. 

Ardich gave him a salute and went forward, rapping his gloved fist on the first door briskly. No one answered. Frowning, Nikolas dismounted, patting his horse briefly and walking towards the house he thought looked the most promising. 

"By order of the Queen, I must ask you to open the door," he said, "no harm will come to your family."

He thinks he hears the sounds of a child talking, a harsh hush from its mother, but the door remained closed. 

"Perhaps we've best make our way to the lord's house?" Bartholomew suggested, riding up to him. "It would most likely shelter all of our men, and keep them out of the peoples' way. They must've been told tales of looting barbarians or what not, to hide themselves away."

"It looks suspicious to me." Ardich spoke up, "Best move slowly through the place, it could be a trap."

Ardich's concerns were proven wrong, as they snaked their way through the holding. Skapina was quite impressive, Nikolas had to admit, even by the Capital's standards. They had made use of the old wood in the surrounding mountains and exquisite designs were carved on what he assumed were the houses and businesses of the rich. Even the poorer areas he passed by had wooden signs hanging on their houses, with strange swirling script carved on them. The most unnerving thing was the silence, only broken by the sounds of horses' hooves and nervous chatting among the soldiers.

There was no mistaking the Lord's house. Manor, was perhaps a better description. It sat at the highest point in the city, a small courtyard with carefully maintained fruit trees in front of it. In the middle was a statue of the Goddess, but as he dismounted again and walked up towards it, he realized her face was unfamiliar. Usually the Goddess would be depicted completely veiled, expressionless, and would either hold a bouquet of flowers, or a pitcher. This statue wasn't veiled, and she held a scroll in her hands, a faint smile on her lips. From the corner of his eye he sees Bartholomew frown. 

His brother was quick to follow him though, when he ordered the majority of his men to stay outside the courtyard and walked towards the manor doors. He thought it would be locked, but the wooden doors swung open to reveal a manor hall, almost empty except for two figures at the other end, sitting at what he thinks is the table reserved for the Lord and his family. The fireplaces built around the two walls were unlit, and the other set of doors was at the far end of the room. It was the first time they had seen people in this town. He opened his mouth to say a greeting but before he did, the smaller of the two figures stood up and made a motion to draw a sword. The other one spoke up. 

" _Put your sword down boy, you'll sooner drop it before givin' any of 'em a scratch._ " said the second figure in the Skapinian tongue.

He made to reach for his own sword, until he saw Bartholomew shake his head, translating, "He's calling off the boy, brother, there's no need. _We are here to reclaim Skapina in the name of the Queen._ " The last sentence was directed at the man sitting at the table.

"You sound even drunker than me," replied the man, this time in the Capital tongue, "Where ever did you learn our tongue, a bar?" he stands, slightly swaying, and putting the cup down finally addressed Nikolas, "It must be such an honor to get sent up here." his voice was dripping with sarcasm, and he continued, "If you're looking for Lord Pierre, he left ages ago, with all and anyone capable."

Walking forward, Nikolas could see that he was being addressed by a gaunt man. He had spindly arms and legs, like one of the walking spiders found near dusty corners. There were several empty cups of beer in front of him. The other was a boy of twelve, if not younger who stared at them with a kind of frightened awe. 

"I'd like to speak to whoever he left in charge." said Nikolas. 

The man eyed his sword and armor warily, and said, "I won't let you come in any further, armed as you are."

"You're in no position to negotiate." snapped Ardich, who had come in with them. 

"And you're free to wander about." answered the man with a careless shrug.

"It won't take long." said Ardich, making a move to walk past the man, who laughed. 

"Go ahead." he waved at the doors leading out of the hall. 

The four of them watched Ardich disappear through the doors on the other side of the room.

"May I ask why you would let him wander around your lord's halls?" Bartholomew spoke up, "Are you not the family guard?" 

"Do I look like I can swing a sword?" ask the man rhetorically, "I'm what you fancy folks in the Capital called the chamberlain." he pauses and mutters irritably, _"But if the house won't let 'im, he'll just wander 'round 'till he comes back, you just wait and see._ " 

Nikolas glanced at Bartholomew, who said, "He's saying Ardich would come back eventually."

True to his word, Ardich bursts through the doors not five minutes later, eyes wide. "I don't understand! There's too many stairs, and too many doors."

The thin man gave him a salute with the mug, "What did I say?"

"Is the house magic?" said Bartholomew, conversationally. 

"Nothing of the sort." said the thin man, "The house is under the late Lady's protection. It's her Runes keeping the scum out Skapina," he eyed them, and shrugged, "don't know why she let you rabble in."

"I thought Runes was magic." said Bartholomew, and the thin man looked affronted. 

The younger boy surprised them by piping up, "You're wrong! Runes have rules, all proper like. Magic doesn't."

Nikolas could almost swear he sees the small clinking gears in Bartholomew's head churning. He tried again. 

"I would like to speak to whoever's in charge." said Nikolas, and removing his sword and knife added, "Please." 

"As you said so politely." said the man, "Come with me then," he paused, staring at Bartholomew and Ardich, "You two stay here." he said, non-negotiably. 

Ardich opens his mouth to argue, and the man cuts him off, turning to the younger boy. 

"You go on and light the fires-" he pointed at the two fireplaces around the hall, "And tell Cook we're expectin' company." he turns to Nikolas, "You can tell your men to come in. I think as they hadn't started any looting in the time we were here talkin', maybe they would like a nice fire or two." he muttered under his breath irritably, " _Never asked to be chatelain, never wanted a promotion..._ "

Nikolas nodded. "Thank you." he said, reflexively. 

The man gave a stiff nod and motions for him to follow through the doors that Ardich had come through. Bartholomew gripped his arm. 

"Are you sure you're not walking into a trap?" he whispered. 

"It's a magic house, brother, and we haven't got a magician standing around." he replied in the same hushed tones, "Besides, the man offered us his hospitality. That's one of the ancient rules, isn't it? Don't kill your guests as a host?"

Bartholomew looks unconvinced. "If you stay too long I will come looking." he said. 

"Of course." Nikolas nodded, gently shaking his arm from his brother's grip and walking towards the unimpressed man. 

"May I ask who I am meeting?" he said, as the doors swung shut behind them. 

"The Lord's son." replied the man. "If he wants to see you."

Nikolas frowned, rummaging through his mind. Lord Pierre, relations to Lord Pierre. 

"Iosef?" he asked, more to himself than anyone. 

The chatelain turned to him with a raised eyebrow. 

"Is that how they say it back in the Capital?" he said, " _Strange perfumed lot._ "

They were walking through a corridor, or at least, Nikolas thinks it is a corridor. There was a strange shimmer in the air. Ardich had said that there were many doors, and he was right, the man led him past several doors, some too close together to make architectural sense, all of varying sizes.

The man stopped at a door and knocked briskly on it. 

"That Knight's here to see you m'lord." he announced, for the first time sounding deferential, "Would you see him?"

The door was swung open by a maid, who gave the man a courtesy nod. She avoided looking at Nikolas.

"Please m'lord, come in."

It was certainly a lord's room that Nikolas stepped in. Rich tapestries lined the walls, hung up by wooden beams with the strange carvings Nikolas had seen earlier. The windows in the room overlooked the courtyard that his men had rode in. There was a wardrobe in a right corner, a writing desk with a pile of letters on it like lost doves. The two maids inside, like the one who opened the door, didn't meet his eyes but the figure on the bed did. The younger one had her hands clasped in front of her, and the older held a bundle in her arms. At a second look, he realized the circular necklaces granted by the Church to all its esteemed priestesses that the older woman was wearing. Esteemed maybe a stretch of the imagination. There was a reason why he hadn't spoken or written to Hildegard in years. 

Iosef looked sickly, he was, if possible, paler than the snow in the courtyard. His blue eyes though, were steely when they met Nikolas from his seat on the bed, cushioned by pillows. 

"It was quite lucky of you to make it here, sir." said Iosef, in lieu of a greeting, "Two more days and you'll likely be snowed in and dead."

"I suppose you know why I'm here." said Nikolas, "I would formally ask for Skapina's surrender, in the name of our Queen."

"Of course." said Iosef, "Hoist the flag, sign the declaration. I'm sorry to say, it's not possible. I'm not in charge of the armies. It's my father you're looking for, on the behalf of your Queen."

"Surely as Lord Pierre's heir-" said Nikolas.

A dark cloud seemed to pass over Iosef's features. 

"Well you'll be in a conundrum I'm afraid." he said, "I can't speak on my father's behalf. I suppose you could ask my husband but, well-" at this he broke into a fit of coughing, which led to a cry of m'lord from one of the women, who rushed over. "It's fine, Rana, I'm fine." he waved her away.

"I don't understand." said Nikolas. 

"He was killed in battle with your Queen's army. Your army." said Iosef.

The ludicrousness of the statement gave him pause. His men looked the part of soldiers, they had good armor, but they were undisciplined and untrained mere months ago and their weapons were blunt and poorly made. It was partly his fault, the Church did not equip heretical commanders with good equipment. It was a miracle they even made it to Skapina with that many still alive. If Iosef's husband was killed in battle, it was not his army that did it. Speaking of husband... he glanced at the bundle in the maid, no, midwife's arms and it all came together.

"You're a carrier?"

Iosef let out a heavy breath and pointed to the woman holding the cloth bundle in her arms. "It's alright Lida, just show him."

Lida glanced nervously at Iosef and held out the bundle from her place by the bed. It was sufficient for Nikolas to recognize that she was holding a baby, a very small one at that. Small enough that his midwife sister would possibly kindly suggest to the parents a priest and prayers. Though if the child had survived so far, there was no reason to fear.

"He's not _one of those_ carriers ." Rana spoke up suddenly, mixing Skapinian and Capital in angry spits, " _He's one of the_ best archers _in all Skapina, and_ I won't let _you speak like that_ to him _._ "

Nikolas glanced at Iosef, who simply looked amused.

"That's enough Rana. I don't think the man understood you." he said, giving Nikolas a tight smile, "am I right?" Iosef continued, "Like I said, I have no authority to surrender the castle to you. Presumably, you can take it, but the Lord would return any day now with fresher men than the ones you have milling around in the hall."

Nikolas gave him a brittle smile, "I will write to her Highness and see what she says." he said. 

"You are free to do so." said Iosef. 

The chatelain at the door gave him another half smile when he walked out. "Are you quite finished?"

If possible, the chatelain looked even more amused at whatever he saw on Nikolas's face. He began to whistle softly as he led Nikolas back to the main Hall, where his men were warming themselves by the now lit fires. Someone had drawn a big cauldron up by one of the fires and a soup was being heated. 

Bartholomew looked up expectantly when he walked in. 

"Can you get me the scroll?" Nikolas said, "I need to ask the Queen what her orders would be now."

His brother raised an eyebrow at this, but went to his pack to fetch the scroll. He handed Nikolas the rune-spelled quill and Nikolas began writing. 

_Report: reached Skapina, Lord Pierre missing. His son cannot-_

The reply came faster than he thought, appearing on the ink in the Queen's thin angled script. 

_Why?_

_Is a carrier and not in charge of the army.  
_

This response led to a long pause from the Capital. Several minutes passed before the words appeared again. 

_I, the Queen of Icfeld, grant you, Nikolas Aldelmfils the rights to Skapina and her holdings as her new lord and master, rescinding the rights of the previous owner. To settle this affair, I give my full blessing to the marriage between you, Nikolas Aldemfils and Iosef Pierrefils. The Crown requires the union to be consummated immediately in order for you, Nikolas Aldelmfils and your eternal soul to remain in the Church's good graces. And mine.  
_

Bartholomew, glancing over Nikolas's shoulder gave him an incredulous look. 

"What?" he said, astonished. 


	2. Bartholomew

If he didn't make a solemn promise to his mother, sisters and the Goddess herself to prevent Nikolas from an early grave, and to save his soul, Bartholomew would have left the stubborn mule to slip and fall in the snow moons ago. 

He never knew why his elder brother wanted to prove himself so much. To who precisely, Bart had never precisely understood. It certainly wasn't their late father, Goddess bless his cantankerous and drunken soul. The apple of his father's eye was his eldest sister Brytha, the true merchant and heir, whatever the laws may or may not say. Nikolas was terrible at math, and even worse at understanding any intricacy of the markets. It was possibly a blessing that Nikolas found himself in the Queen's good graces and a latent talent and luck in commanding. 

Now that they'd somehow stumbled into Skapina unopposed, he found himself waiting for the other shoe to drop. The mountain city made the hairs on his arm stand on end. He'd originally thought that was just the cold that made him shiver under his cloak but the moment his horse walked into the city, it felt like a thousand eyes were on them. None of the other men noticed, they weren't particularly trained in the Runic arts after all. If possible they seemed the most calm and relaxed since he'd known them. 

The Runes on the doors they passed by were unfamiliar. Bart's best guess was that they were a combination of protection and blessing ruins. He wished that he'd made an effort to look into the history of Skapina before departing with his brother on the wild goose chase. The books at the Capital spoke of its cold winters and various wild beasts that wandered in the pine forests, all from the perspective of the merchants that dared travel there. It was absent of any military campaigns held, possibly because no one came back from them. 

Bartholomew glanced at his brother. He used to be able to read the emotions off his brother's face, Nikolas was quite an expressive child when he was younger, but now, he saw nothing. The most likely emotion was concern. After all, most people open their doors when one invokes the Queen and country, and that didn't happen here. 

"Perhaps we've best make our way to the lord's house?" he suggested to his brother. 

As a response, Nikolas spurred his horse to a trot uphill, towards the manor house. Again, Bart found himself wishing he hadn't dozed off in his various lectures. None of the Runes were recognizable, even in the houses of the wealthy, who would presumably use the more standardized Runic system compared to their suspicious and old fashioned peasant counterparts. 

He thinks he gasps involuntarily when their company approaches the statue in the courtyard. An ordinarily statue at a glance but brimming with a recognizable magical signature. Perhaps it was a witch's power that is palpably vibrating the air, he thought, dismounting to stare at the woman's face. His wizened teachers at the Academy would no doubt drop their pointed hats at the scandal. 

"Depicting a common _woman_ as the Goddess?" Eacwald would have exclaimed, stomping his foot for emphasis.

"Absolutely unacceptable, scrolls on statues are reserved for esteemed academy graduates!" Cynre would say, offended, shaking his long beard. 

It was an interesting concept, such strong power held within a statue. From his own academic experience, trapping magic in anything made it angry. Statues in old temples sometimes gave off a magical aura, but that was more or less maintained by offerings and acolytes, not trapped. This statute seemed to spill over with energy on its own. Involuntarily he reaches out, touching the statue's hand. 

A soft voice, a woman's voice, whispered in his ear, and he flinched. 

" _Welcome, Guigo, son of Aldelm, Runewriter."_

That was a name he hadn't been called in a while. He looked around frantically, but no one around him responded. It's magic, he thought to himself, witches' magic. 

" _Everything strange to you wizards you call witchcraft._ " said the voice, or was it now voices, sounding amused, " _We kindly open my hall to you and yours, but draw a sword within its halls-_ " there was a scratching sound, like trees against the brick wall, " _We will expel you. No bloody swords ever won Skapina. This we swear._ "

As swiftly as they spoke, the voices were gone. No one, again, seemed to notice his bemusement. How fascinating, did he just conversed to the spirits? The guardians of Skapina? Bart shakes himself out of his reverie, hurrying to catch up to his brother and Ardich. There was a warning about drawing swords after all, and knowing Nikolas and Ardich, both of them would sooner stab something than ask it questions. 

He wasn't surprised to be greeted by a chamberlain in the Skapinian tongue, and was more than fascinated by the manor's doors. It seemed like the type of pulleys and bells that a Grand Master would set up to dissuade students from asking questions before an examination. Very talented Runework, Bart wondered if Skapina had a line of hidden wizards. No one hailed from Skapina at the academy.

The boy came back with a burly older woman who began to bustle about lighting up the fireplace and dragging a heavy cauldron from the kitchen. She waved him away dismissively when he offered a hand. 

" _I don't need soldiers in my kitchen._ " she said irritably. 

" _Of course, Cook knows best."_ he replied brightly, which earned him a surprised laugh from her. 

" _You can speak our tongue?_ " she said, sounding more impressed than the chamberlain. 

" _Not very well._ " he admitted, _"Your chamberlain was not pleased._ "

" _Oh, ignore the old toad. He'll tell the sun to go down if it shined on him too early in the morning."_ she said, before catching herself, and frowning " _Are you here to take Skapina?_ "

" _It's not precisely taking,_ " he offered, trying to sound apologetic, _"the Queen wishes for the Lord to declare loyalty back to her. It's a...hmm,_ power _thing-_ " he paused at the look of confusion on her face, " _when royals like to get more land and such, to compare among themselves._ " he offered, in lieu of an explanation. 

The woman didn't look convinced, " _Perhaps they should draw swords with each other then, not march armies and burn villages._ " she said. 

" _We haven't burnt anything coming here._ " Bart pointed out. 

" _You didn't._ " agreed the woman, _"But maybe you will when the Lord returns._ "

He wasn't sure what to make of her last sentence, and opened his mouth to say more, but he saw Nikolas coming back from his visit to the presumed heir's chambers with one of those stormy looks and decided against it. 

" _Thank you for your time._ " he said, politely. 

" _No need_." she replied, busying herself with the cauldron. 

It must be some talk, as Nikolas ordered him to fetch the scroll and quill for the report to the Queen without even recounting what happened. Bart glanced over his shoulder as Nikolas sat down and wrote, in short rapid strokes. 

_Report: reached Skapina, Lord Pierre missing. His son disinherited-_

Bart wondered what it was like to have direct correspondence with the Queen and be so precisely dull with reports. The queen's reply came quickly too, what, did she not need to sleep? 

_Why?_

He blinks at the next words his brother wrote though. 

_The reports did not say he was a carrier._

Well, that was an interesting twist on things. He'd never met a carrier before, and the teachers at the Academy were old and prudish with such topics. Asking might even induce a heart attack, or perhaps a faint. How fascinating, does a carrier make for a better Runewriter? The Academy was traditionalist in a sense, the students there were men, capable of the sophisticated and complicated task of writing and compiling Runes all, as the boy said earlier, proper-like. Women on the other hand, were taught less formally, in hidden places, the more wilder and untamed arts. He'd speculated that Skapina was possibly one of them, and would readily admit it to himself that it was the main reason he came with his brother.

He thinks Nikolas nearly faints when the response from the Capital comes back. "What?" he said, astonished. 

"It says what it says." said Nikolas, more to himself than anyone.

"It seems a fair deal." said Bart, "Well, more fair to you. A lordship and a bride, all for the price of marching through snow and frostbitten soldiers. How is he like?"

"I don't think Iosef-" Nikolas began and hesitated, "I've never been good at-"

Bart stared at his brother's slowly reddening face and felt a great glee rise within him; the very same malicious glee that he felt when he and the other students dumped two and a half dozen rotten fish from their perch on top of the astronomy tower down on the hapless Cyrne. 

"Isn't this what you wanted?" he said, slyly, "A lordship and a lady and however many children rambling about?"

"Well, yes, but, I thought I'd get to choose." said his brother, scowling at the open smirk on Bart's face.

"You should've known that the Queen doesn't really like people choosing." said Bart, and offered helpfully, "I can talk to him, if you'd like." 

He shrugged at Nikolas's disbelieving face. 

"Ever talk to a lass-" he paused, "or lad in their own tongue? Does wonders at persuasion, that's all I'll say-" he holds up a hand, interrupting Nikolas, "Don't be crass, I'm not going to steal away your bride. You know very well I wait with baited breath for the passing of our, no, my beloved Runemaster. Wouldn't find a better man to wear his hat."

"Maybe you should then," Nikolas said, "but no today, tomorrow." 

Bart thinks there is some implication or another in the words but he shrugged it off as an eccentricity of Nikolas. He stood up and went to the cauldron to get himself a bowl of soup and settled down to eat and lay out his blankets. This was certainly nicer than camping out in the woods. Though, if they were still camping out in the woods he would undoubtedly have spent a good hour thinking what it meant, but now there were other things on his mind. Namely, three things; how bad were the spies in the Capital that they'd given Jozin's name as Iosef, and did that mean the Queen's net had more holes than he thought; how much did Jozin know of the magic around Skapina, and most importantly, if he did know, was he willing to share the knowledge? Those were the questions that drifted through his head as he went to sleep.

He thinks he hears footsteps in the night and he tossed and turned nervously. That led to him waking up early the next morning, and he carelessly tossed his bedroll aside to rise, making sure not to wake Nikolas next to him. His bag that he was using as a pillow was swung over his shoulder. He'd have to hurry, knowing his brother, he'll have ten minutes at best.

" _Good morning, sir_." he said, brightly. 

The chamberlain looked unconvinced from his seat at the table. A part of Bart wondered if the man even slept. 

" _I presume you want something?_ " he said bluntly. 

" _I understood that my brother didn't make the best impression._ " Bart said, keeping his tone light and airy, " _I'd like to talk to Lord Jozin myself._ "

" _Your pronunciation is still atrocious._ " said the chamberlain, " _What makes you think he'll see you this early in the morning?_ "

_"I wouldn't sleep if strangers are in my house either._ " Bart offered, adding a wild guess, " _Were you walking about last night?_ "

The chamberlain smiled thinly, and said nothing. 

" _I'm ready, whenever you are._." Bart said, smiling winningly.

Bart would like to think that the chamberlain only gave an exasperated sigh and lead him to the door because the man was persuaded by his charms. Though, if the Cook's version of the chamberlain is true, the man more or less probably wanted him to go away. When they walked through the door, the inside was decorated, like he predicted, the same type of Runes the masters at the Academy would use. An oversized door here, an undersized door there, all very impressive but not very creative. When they were let into Lord Jozin's chamber after a polite knock and an announcement, Bart was immediately assaulted by the smell of rose, sage and pig fat. 

" _Good morning, Lord Jozin_ ." he said, giving a polite half bow, " _I'm_ Bartholomew _, pleased to make your acquaintance. May I step closer?_ "

There's a faint sheen of sweat on Jozin's face. Bart thinks the other man is shivering underneath the blanket. When he spoke though, his voice was even and calm. 

" _You speak Skapinian?_ " said Jozin, " _I didn't know it was taught at the Academy._ "

" _Did your chamberlain tell you?_ " Bart said. 

" _No. Lida was watching the company arrive and said you had a… reaction to the statute. It's not hard to guess why."_ said Jozin. 

" _Is the statue of your lady mother?_ " asked Bart, then added, sincerely, " _She has lovely eyes. The mason was a master._ "

Jozin looked down briefly at his lap, and when he looked up again, he said with some emotion, " _It is. She died a long time ago._ "

" _May I ask what you meant by having a reaction to a statue?_ "

" _Is this for an academic interest, Bartholomew?_ "

" _One doesn't get spoken to by statues on a daily basis._ " Bart offered. 

" _She spoke to you?_ " asked Jozin. 

" _I don't think it was a singular woman._ " 

He thinks he might have insulted Jozin, but the other man started coughing violently instead, curling up on himself in the bed. 

" _Jozin?_ "

The door to the maids' room swung open and an older woman hustled out, followed by a younger woman who held a baby in her arms. At the sight of the baby, everything became clear. Bart turns to the older woman. 

" _Did something go wrong in the birth?"_

" _I have never delivered a carrier's baby_ ," said the older woman biting her lip, " _it should be very similar, I reasoned, and it was fine until m'lord came down with fevers and chills-_ "

" _When was the birth?_ " he asked the woman. 

" _Three, four days ago?_ "

Bart thinks that he and the older woman came to the same conclusion at once, a look of dawning dread. 

" _It's the fever isn't it?_ " interrupted Jozin, sounding frightened, " _Lida?_ "

" _Jozin, I'm sure if the Goddess wanted you she'll have taken you already._ " said Bart, then to himself more than anyone, "Guess that's why it was so easy coming here."

Bartholomew says a silent prayer that he took his sister Hildegard's advice. That kit of medicine bought, well, borrowed, from the Academy's stores and his sister's collection, might just have the thing. 

" _Your fever is caused by_ inflammation." he said, " _Do you trust me to give you the medicine for it?_ "

Lida looks skeptical, but Jozin nods. 

"Good, good." said Bart, opening his bag. 

He pulls out the wooden box and looks through the glass jars to find the one labelled Penicillium.

"Right, age, weight, time, dosage," Bart muttered to himself. " _Lida, when was the last time he ate?_ "

" _Last night?_ " Lida offered, adding, " _Before sunset._ "

" _Do you mind getting me a glass of water?_ " said Bart, taking out the small measuring spoon from the bag's multitude of pockets and lightly shaking the bottle in his hand.

The older woman nods, going off to the basin on a dresser nearby and filling a glass. She hands it to him, and he carefully spoons out a dosage and drops it into the glass. Lida, now understanding, hands him a spoon. 

He stirs the liquid, before handing it to Lida and rummaging in his bag for his pocket watch. 

" _Right, Lida, the small hand is at this rune,_ " he pointed to the watch face, " _now, when it reaches this rune, give him the same amount in the glass._ "

Jozin wrinkled his nose at the smell, but drank the glass in slow sips. " _It tastes foul,_ " he said with a grimace. 

"Nikolas you idiot." said Bartholomew shaking his head. He closed the wooden box and carefully placed it back in his bag. "Nearly killed bride is a new record."

"What did you say?" said Jozin, sounding disgusted, "What bride?"

If looks could combust, Bart thought, he'd be floating in some heavenly place precisely the minute he met those angry blue eyes. 

"Maybe your chamberlain should've snooped in my brother's scrolls too." he offered, smiling nervously, "He'd seen the Queen's orders."

"How are you two brothers?" asked Jozin, waving a hand when Bart opened his mouth to answer, "Never mind, please go tell your brother I said no."

"I think he'll come here to tell you himself," said Bart.

As if timed to precision, there was a knock on the door and the chamberlain's voice asking if Jozin wanted to talk. 


	3. Jozin

Jozin's first love was a pretty girl called Milla. She had copper hair and a temper to match, the brunt of which he got a taste of when they first met at children. Milla had been busy building a snow castle in one of his mother's gardens, and as Jozin ran to find a nice hiding spot in a game of hide-and-seek with Surio, accidentally barreled straight into her creation. 

Milla took several deep breaths, staring at the now ramshackle castle and Jozin sitting on top of it all. She gave a shriek of anger, tackling him and pummeling him with mittened hands. It took three of the maids to pull her of him, wailing like an angry mountain cat. When he'd told his mother afterwards, she merely shook her head in silent laughter, and told him to apologize, telling him he should give her something of equal value. 

In retrospect it would have gone very differently if his father had been the one to deal with the situation. It was a testament of devotion that his father never questioned his mother's decision to take into the city what the other ladies and lords mumble under their breaths as _cripples, bastards and broken things_. They'd put Milla in the middle box no doubt, a child of unknown parentage with a presumed harlot for a mother. Of course the lords could only whisper under their breaths, no one really dared challenge Lady Skapina on how she ran her little city and above all speak ill of the Lady Skapina. Not because they were scared, it was more along the lines of; the ladies and lords knew who their peasants prayed to for help, and who came to their aid when the they themselves shut their doors. It was blasphemous, and the ladies and their lords it.

Everyone referred, or deferred to his mother as the Lady Skapina. Jozin had asked her once, why that is, surely, her name is Mira, that's what father called her. She laughed and told him that things change when you get married, and doubly so when you are the Lady of Skapina. "That's terrible", he had exclaimed, "Why would you ever get married?". His mother only laughed harder and said, "we will see little Jozin, we will see". Dwelling on the memories later, he'd wondered if it had made a difference had she chosen to explain to him who exactly took on the title of Lady Skapina.

In his memories, his mother was always laughing. She had given him a fond smile and a parting reminder of; "be kind, I will come back son darling", the day she left for one of her pilgrimages around Skapina's holier sights. It was also the day one of Icfeld's religious knights put an arrow through her chest, in the guise of putting an end to blasphemy. In his subsequent arrest, and interrogation, he shrieked that it wasn't just the Goddess that wanted Lady Skapina dead, it was the lords and laides of Skapina too. 

Lord Pierre's reaction was swift and deadly. In less than half a moon he'd rounded up all the priests and their knights and had them summarily exiled. Their temples he razed to the ground, and the knight responsible for his wife's death, he had him shot with half a hundred arrows. He then kindly asked the very same priests to carry the body back to the temples in Icfeld. When angry summons came from the Holy Priestress in Icfeld, the response was that he was merciful enough to let the dogs return to their mistress. 

The excommunication letter that resulted was simply shrugged off. "What will they do," Lord Pierre had said, "ride their little palanquin up the Skapina mountains? They'll freeze in their fancy silk robes long before they can send me off to Hell". In a final gesture of disobedience, Lord Pierre had then replaced the statue of the Goddess with the statue of his late wife, made with his own hands as a gift to her on their wedding day years before. 

The petty ladies and lords then thought it was ripe time to take Skapina. Surely an excommunicated, disgraced Lord was unfit to rule, but they underestimated the anger their subjects had at their role in Lady's end. There were ten petty noble families to Skapina's one, and six of them were dragged out of their houses and torn apart by angry mobs. Lord Pierre, watching from his high manor, then rewarded each peasant leader with the title of his former lady. It was around this time, at twelve years old, that Jozin started addressing his father by Lord Pierre. Everyone did now, they all saw what he did to the houses that hired an assassin. Even the remaining four ladies who swore innocent to the whole affair Lord Pierre forced them to relinquish their sons and daughters into his care. "It is only fair", said Lord Pierre, "children for children. The Lady and I would have had many sons and daughters and your foolish schemes took them away from me". 

Watching the judgement from a seat by his father's right hand, Jozin wondered if this was what his mother wanted. He turned to Milla and Surio afterwards, now his closest friends, and asked them if it wasn't a cruel thing to do. Milla shrugged, biting into her apple and said, "nobles do whatever they want, we, well not you, have to deal with it". Surio pointed out, running a hand through his brown hair thoughtfully, that it wasn't too cruel, it was expected that young boys go to squire anyways, and maybe with the daughters they would find better husbands in Skapina than stuck needling in whatever fort they lived in before. That resulted in a punch from Milla who told him that he didn't know anything about girls, she was probably better at archery than both of them, declaring, "I'll show you". The three then ran off to the archery range, shrieking and arguing all the while, much to the disdain of the chamberlain.

Jozin didn't know when Milla suddenly started styling her hair in more elaborate braids, and taking more dainty steps and curtseys, but it happened, and the men in Skapina started looking her way. "Are you jealous", she said, with jest, "that some bard would just come and steal me away"." Of course not," he snapped back, "why would anyone like Milla from Skapina". She gave him a hurt look at this, and ran off, locking her door when he tried to come knocking later. Jozin apologizes to no avail, finally leaving her a favorite bow of his at her door, with carved Runes on it. On the bow his mother had carved the words;

_Flying with feathers but no wings,_

_To an engine of no metal._

_The beating second no longer sings,_

_When the first comes home to settle._

He didn't expect Milla to forgive him instantly, but she eventually found him in the archery range, carrying the bow with her. "You're forgiven", she said, short and curt, and he breathed a sigh of relief that everything was well. Milla had then waited until they were quite alone to pull him to the storage room. "You are very dense", Jozin, she said, "did you know, I would have accepted a kiss as an apology". The kiss tasted like apples and smelled like the polished wood of bows. "I think, Jozin," said Milla, "I would very much like to be your bride".

He thinks the two moons when they would ride around the woods in Skapina, to a secret clearing where they would lie down on the grass, her body against his, their hands entwined, more beautiful than anything he'd ever experienced. They had talked of travelling the world, perhaps going as far east as Camaira, the bustling port city, and as far north as Tastow, the icy wilds. She was not a lady, but, surely his father would not mind the union, Lord Pierre was not born a lord, after all. 

Jozin was very much wrong. 

"You dense boy," Lord Pierre said, coldly, "this girl is nothing but a street rat from Icfeld, taken to noble airs." He turned to the terrified Milla, "did my son put a child in you girl, you best speak the truth." 

"No, no my lord," she sobbed, falling to her knees, we never did anything of the sort. 

Lord Pierre reached for her hand and pulled her up, "do you have the wits to look me in the eye girl, you had one to seduce my son," he snapped. There was a cold pause, and Lord Pierre turned to Jozin. "Is your wench an archer," he said, "perhaps she'll fancy a challenge, I'll let her loose in the woods, with one arrow for each day she's been with you and if she can shoot down the beasts that come at her, she can go."

There was a trap there, they both knew it. Milla looked at him, and he her. "Or," said Lord Pierre, "I'll let you pick which man she marries." he gestures to the map in his study, "Pick a name, any name, and I'll see that she's bundled off with a dowry to match any lady."

Jozin looked at the map, then at Milla. 

"Camaira," he said, "The merchant family of Camaira."

They thought that Lord Pierre would not be able to do it, after all Camaira was so very far away, but not a moon pass and a travelling merchant delivered a letter from Camaira, sealed with the family's crest, exclaiming that they were very happy to wed such an accomplished northern lady. Milla had been promptly bundled off, red eyed and stiff lipped, to the nearby city, to be delivered to Camaira by boat. 

Her last gift to him was returning the bow he's given her, "you should give it to your lady." she had said, not meeting his eyes, "any lady would be lucky to be wed to you."

The bow felt strangely warm when he touched it, Jozin thought it must be that Milla clutched it to her chest as she climbed the stairs to his room, but hours and days after she left it was still warm. 

"It's magic." Surio said, when he saw the bow, coming to pull Jozin out of his sulk days later, "she's done some magic to it."

"What do you know?" Jozin snapped, "Please leave."

"It wouldn't be right to leave." said Surio, "Your chambers are on top of a tower, and you're very impulsive, anything can happen."

"Why didn't you say anything?" said Jozin, "You were keeping watch all those times we rode out and you could've said it was a bad idea."

"You wouldn't have listened." said Surio, "Don't scowl, you know I'm right."

They glared at each other for awhile until it was broken by a sad sigh from Jozin, "I don't know why I chose Camaira." he said, "I don't even know the family, I just thought, we dreamed of going there, and everyone talks of the apples they have there. I thought it might be a good place. What if I sent her to some brute?"

"She'll skewer him with an arrow." offered Surio, "You'll see. And maybe she'll send you letters and whatnot, all scented like."

It was unlikely, but Jozin decided to play along anyway, "Perhaps I can see her later." he said. 

"Maybe she'll sail back here to see you instead." said Surio. 

The two had stayed up late then, reminiscing over older memories of their childhood. Everything felt wrong, but for the first time in days Jozin felt he was able to fall asleep. 

He woke up to blood between his legs and cramps all over his lower body. The chamberlain, if mysteriously summoned whenever something went awry in the manor immediately ran to his side. 

"Oh dear." said the thin man, "Oh dear, oh dear."

"What is wrong with him?" Surio said exclaimed loudly, "Why is he bleeding?"

"I will tell Lord Pierre," said the chamberlain, and seeing the frightened look on Jozin's face, "if I don't tell him he will find out anyway." and as an added reassurance, "I don't think he would punish you, this isn't something of your doing, Lord Pierre's a reasonable man." he turns to Surio, "you stay here boy, I think he would also like to talk to you too. Don't call the maids, you help him clean up while I'm gone."

Surio had given Jozin a bewildered look, but obediently walked to the dresser by the door and began taking out the small clothes and a pair of pants. Jozin felt dazed, staring at the circular stain of blood on his sheets. He was friends with Milla, he knew what happened every month, he'd even helped her fetch some soap to wash off the mess and listened to her list her various grievances at the Goddess. He's not a woman, surely not. 

"C'mon, you should get dressed," said Surio, handing Jozin his shirt and pants, "It'll look bad if Lord Pierre-"

There was no need to finish the sentence. They both knew how Lord Pierre likes order. Jozin pulled the shirt over his head, mechanically dressing himself. He felt oddly blank. He was still in a haze when Lord Pierre came in flanked by the chamberlain several minutes later. 

"What were you two doing last night?" he said, directing the question to Surio. 

"We were talking, m'lord." Surio stammered, adding, "The candle burnt out so I thought not to walk back down the stairs."

"Hm." said Lord Pierre, "At least you're not a complete halfwit." to Jozin, he said, "I suppose you want an explanation?"

"Yes." said Jozin, adding, "Lord Pierre."

"Your friend here," said Lord Pierre, "How chatty is he?"

"I swear I won't say anything m'lord." said Surio. 

"Of course you won't." agreed Lord Pierre, "You won't gain anything from it." turning his attention to Jozin, he said, "Do you know why your mother took on the name Lady Skapina?" he didn't pause, continuing, "It's more than just a title. It's an invocation. Magic in its pure form, is passed by devotion. The more she was beloved, the more powerful her magic became. I truly wondered what she could've done if those bastards.." he trailed off. 

"What does that have to do with me?" said Jozin, daring to cut in. 

"The title only passes to the firstborn girl." said Lord Pierre, "It's been that way ever since Skapina was founded. 

"I still don't understand." said Jozin.

"Your birth was a difficult one." said Lord Pierre, matter-of-factly, "It was advised to us not to have any more children by the wizard and witch attending. Your mother suspects you might be a carrier, said that she felt drained more than not when carrying you. The wizard mentioned something about latent magic being stronger on carriers than normal girls. I had no reason to disagree with them, and I suppose time proved them correct." for a moment Lord Pierre almost looked proud. 

"I thought carriers..." Jozin trailed off. 

"The superstitious lot in Icfeld hand them straight to the monastery when they bleed." said Lord Pierre bluntly, "But it's their loss, I'll have someone come and train you in Runewriting. That should prove useful."

Lord Pierre sounded almost cheerful, Jozin stared at the apparition, shocked, "That's all? You are… fine with this?"

"I would have preferred a larger family," said Lord Pierre, "But I have seven foster sons from their fathers' rebellions still in my hall, I am not completely lacking in _sons_. What I haven't had in many years is magical potential."

The older man turns to Surio with a half smile on his face, "I am feeling particularly generous today, boy, would you like to know why you and all the other hellions were bought here?"

"No, m'lord." said Surio.

"A part of it was my dear Mira's heart. She could never bear to leave a wandering beggar child to the streets. I would've put a stop to it if not for the gratefulness the little scamps showed her and well, some in particular, like you, were not all nameless. Did you know, boy, who your father is?"

"No, m'lord." said Surio, giving Jozen a look of confusion.

"Your father tried to conquer his way up Skapina. He failed of course, as Tastow conquerors and every other man before him. But not before he bedded your mother and left her with his ring, promising to make her Lady Skapina." the last statement was said in ironic tones, Lord Pierre pulled the aforementioned ring out of his pocket and handed it to a shocked Surio, "There is no need for you to trust my word, I can say for certain, if you stay in Skapina, perhaps I can assist you in regaining your lands. Perhaps even a hand in marriage, I was told you are more than fond of Jozin."

Surio flushed red, "I am not-" he stammered. 

"What do you mean?" demanded Jozin, adding "my lord?"

His father gave him a pointed look, "There's seven boys downstairs more than willing to bed and wed you if I just nod their way. If you like one of them, tell me and I will arrange it. A marriage with any one of them would silence their fathers' incoherent babble."

Lord Pierre then turned to the chamberlain, who had so far stood silent, "Make sure Surio here doesn't wander into Jozin's chambers. And get him some maids, discrete ones, understood?"

"Understood my lord." said the chamberlain, "I will have it taken care of." 

Lord Pierre left as quickly as he came, shutting the door behind him. The chamberlain left too, but not before giving Surio a look that warned of not breaking the new rules, or overstaying his welcome.

"That.. was very unexpected." said Surio, rolling the ring in his hand. It had the heraldry of the Tastow house on it, a sable carrying a bird in its mouth.

"He's never spoken this much to me in years." said Jozin, shocked, "I don't even know what to think." he reached out to grasp Surio's hand, "Was he lying when he said you were more than fond of me?"

Surio flushed, "Your father never lies." he offered weakly, and holding up his hands to ward off the barrage of confused anger, said, "I wasn't sure what I felt. He reads people well, and he just…. Knows things."

They again sat in silence. Jozin broke it to declare, firmly, "I'm not going to be anyone's wife."

"I never did think you would be one." Surio agreed, "It wouldn't suit you at all."

"But," said Jozin, "if people… men, come asking, one of them would eventually offer something Lord Pierre wants. I won't have a choice then."

"Oh, don't worry about that," said Surio, breaking into a grin, "Milla isn't the only one with a quick hand. I'll protect your honor my fair lord."

He ducked his head at the pillow that flew at his face. "Sorry, sorry, I did deserve that." Surio looked contemplative, "I guess I should get into practicing the sword as well, I bet old Valdi would have a stroke, seeing me show up so early." he smiled again, "Perhaps this isn't too bad what Lord Pierre offered, you and I know each other very well, better than most of the noble couples we've seeing going up here to win favors." he hesitated, "It is more unfair to you than to me, I know you'd probably preferred Milla."

"No." said Jozin, "I mean-" he bit his lips, "I should've expected that there would have been marriage contracts and what not already signed. I did love her. But... well, I should've known."

"It already happened," said Surio evenly, "There's no use dwelling over whether or not Lord Pierre is still in possession of a heart."

"He does." Jozin said firmly, "Why else would my mother love him?"

"Fair point." agreed Surio, "I'm of the thought that Lord Pierre sold his heart to some wood witch a while back."

"Why would the witches even want his heart?" said Jozin, "I mean, they get bodies fair enough, what with all the travelers getting lost on their way to Skapina."

"An empty heart is said to be a very powerful vessel-" said Surio, adding defensively, "I read too, while waiting for you to finish with the tutors!"

"That's purely witches' rumors" said Jozin, "No one can live without a heart."

"We'll disagree amicably then." said Surio, standing up, "I'll leave before the chamberlain comes and drag me off by the ear. I'll be seeing you later, Jozin." he said, making an over dramatic bow before leaving. 

_I'll be seeing you later, Jozin._

Those were the very same words he whispered to Jozin eight years later, head cradled in Jozin's lap, the sound of swords clashing in the background. By all rights it should be raining, a roar of grief and anger that mirrored Jozin's, but it was, ironically, a sunny day. Later, the trumpets would sound that they had won the battle, and a brief celebration would be held by cheering men. Jozin felt nothing as he sat in one of the tents, an empty cup in his hand, Milla's bow strapped to his back and Surio's ring on the table. Surio was the second person Jozin had ever loved, and staring at the green stones in the sable's eyes that was now a cruel mockery of Surio's, he would be the last. 

He didn't just die, he left Jozin with what, if he had lived, would have been a blessing. Instead it felt like a curse as he now waited outside his father's tent to tell him the news. There are many things one can curse Lord Pierre for. Being ignorant was not one of them. It only took several moments for his father to pierce together the puzzle. 

"You let Surio fucked you." he said, blunt and curt. "What an inconvenience, now that he's dead and you're pregnant."

Jozin knew, from experience to keep his mouth shut. A part of him wanted to string his bow and sing an arrow into his father's heart. But that wouldn't work would it, he would have to pierce several layers of Runes hammered into Lord Pierre's breastplate, decorated with bears and wolves by the best metalsmith of Skapina. The wolves, Jozin knew, were undoubtedly inspired by the feral packs roaming around Skapina during its colder winter months. For the unfortunates that were caught taking more than their fair share of winter rations, they would be tossed from the walls down to eager howls from the wolves. Lord Pierre always supervised it personally, the look in his eyes not quite different than those of the waiting wolves. There was only one time, years ago, he wasn't able to supervise, and that was because the woman had thrown herself off the walls willingly. 

Rana had told him the story herself, shivering under the blankets with him that night. "I heard," said the girl, rubbing her hands together and then her shoulders, "her babe died the day before, and they said she went mad with grief. Cook told me they had to tie her down, but she broke out and- "

"You shouldn't gossip about the dead." said Jozin, flicking open the next page in his Rune book, "It's bad luck." 

The younger girl gave him a skeptical look, "Why? Do you think the Goddess would hate her?"

"No." said Jozin, "You're not judged for actions you did when not in your right mind." 

"I pray that yours goes well." said Rana, suddenly pious, "Cook told me if you were like all them other mistresses I'd have been slapped ten times over. I don't want to find another house."

This caused Jozin to snap the book close and shake his head firmly at her. "I don't want to think about having children." he said, giving her a rare frown, "Don't talk to me again about such things, ever, do you understand?"

Of course, now that night's conversation about the woman, the wolves and what he ought to do with his current condition was now suddenly very clear and buzzed around in his head like the flies in the battlefield that they'd just rode off from. He certainly wasn't the only one thinking of that night. Rana was no longer a young girl, with uneven braids and a gap tooth smile. She's recently taken to wearing her hair short, spending as much time on her knives as she did scowling at anyone who glanced at him wrong. Lately all she did was shadow him, a look of perpetual concern on her face. 

"Will you please stop looking at me like that, Rana?" he finally said, exasperated. 

"I'm only doing my job, m'lord." she said, deferentially. 

"I won't be doing anything dense." Jozin said, "You don't have to worry about that."

"I know, I know." said Rana, hesitating, "I don't mean to pry, but if m'lord needs other options, I can possibly find it at any village midwife. But it should be done soon, if this is-"

"I don't know what I want." confessed Jozin, "I mean, in any other circumstance, Surio would-" he trails off, and she nodded encouragingly, holding his hands in hers. "I would want it, but I don't. I don't know what I want."

"Maybe you should let the Goddess decide." offered Rana, "If it shall be, it shall be." 

This rare moment of sage wisdom earned her a choked laugh from Jozin. "I should tell him." he muttered, more to himself than Rana. 

It was a mark of how much she understood the situation that Rana immediately looked troubled, "Lord Pierre, wouldn't he want you to, well-" she made an abortive gesture. 

"No." said Jozin, "He doesn't hurt _family_. He told me that years ago."

"Of course, m'lord." said Rana, looking unconvinced. 

That was how he now found himself standing in Lord Pierre's tent, waiting for the axe to drop. 

"I suppose a marriage can be arranged between you and one of the Seven Buffoons.. But they could die at any time and a twice widowed bride is a bad omen." Lord Pierre looked contemplative, "How good can you lead Sir Nikolas's army on a wild chase?"

"What do you mean, my lord?" said Jozin, surprised at this turn of events. 

This earned him an exasperated sigh, and his father walked to the war table motioning him to follow. 

"You see this?" he motioned to the various pieces, "We've managed to whittle away at almost every regiment her _Blessedness_ sent from Icfeld. Except this one- he jabbed his finger at a finger that presumably represented Sir Nikolas. 

"They've got a magician. Or a witch of some talent. If we attack them, there is a chance the Rune protected armor would fail. I'll let you take ten or so archers and run them to Skapina."

"And where would you go?" said Jozin, "To feed an entire army this winter?"

"I have favors to call upon." said Lord Pierre, "Trap them in Skapina for the entire winter, I'll come back and kill them off come spring. It could happen that they mistimed the attack and die in the winter anyway." he frowned contemplatively, "I'll let you pick which one of the Seven, when this war is over." he offered. 

It was possibly, now, the only choice his father would ever give to him. 

"I understand, my lord." said Jozin, resigned, "When should I leave?"

"It is up to you." said Lord Pierre, "Soon, otherwise you would not make the journey back to Skapina before that-" he gestured towards Jozin's stomach, "becomes a problem."

He wonders if his father was praying for a miscarriage. 

"I will make preparations." he said, making his leave. 

Lord Pierre held out a hand to stop him before he could completely leave. 

"It is unfortunate." he said, "Surio would have been great."

"I know, my lord." said Jozin, biting his lip. 

"Before we left Skapina, he asked me for permission to wed you," said Lord Pierre, "when we won the war." there was a pause, "He left something in my room he made for you. I've put it in your mother's chest. I think it was a lute."

"Thank you for telling me." said Jozin, tasting the tang of blood in his mouth. 

"You can't help the grief with your tears." said Lord Pierre, "I learned that quite well when your mother died."


	4. Bartholomew

" _Wait_ ." said Bart, " _Will you let me talk to him? Please._ "

Jozin scowled, " _Why should I?_ "

" _Look,_ " said Bart, " _We both know this manor serves you._ " he twists his fingers nervously, now is not the time to insult a person who would give him an insight to Skapinian magic, " _Is that possibly why it just let us in? Because it thought I could help?_ "

" _Are you asking for a favor?_ " said Jozin incredulously, " _For saving my life, you think-_ "

" _No, of course not!_ " said Bart, placatingly, " _I am saying, the house seems to obey you, and I don't think it would let anything happen that you don't want-_ "

" _What an astute statement._ " said Jozin dryly.

" _We both know that Skapina's famous winters are coming and everyone would be snowed in._ " said Bart, " _Why don't you just wait until spring comes and decide if marrying Nikolas is something you would consider? It seems perfectly logical, and-_ " he paused, making a gesture widely at the room in general, " _the manor would expel us at any time, if you disagree._ "

He decided not to mention what Nikolas would write to the Queen and what the woman would respond with. The negotiations so far seemed to be the honey needed for the bees as Jozin looked contemplative.

" _I don't know your brother._ " said Jozin, " _How should I know he'll keep his word?_ "

" _He owns me a favor. Several in fact. Enough for the entire winter._ " said Bart, "I'll keep him to his word. In return for-"

" _The Skapinian magic_ ." finished Jozin. " _I see._ " he stared at the door, " _Tell your brother to give me whatever pen he wrote to his queen with. I want to write to her myself._ "

" _Is that a wise idea m'lord._ " the Lida spoke up suddenly, " _Icfeld lies are longer than their rivers. It is known._ "

" _We will see._ " said Jozin, " _Go talk to your brother, Bartholomew_."

" _Thank you,_ " Bart said, turning to Lida, " _Please, follow the instructions, and call me back if there's no difference in his temperature._ "

There was a part of him that wondered what Goddess blessed herb Lida gave the young lord last night to keep him that coherent for their conversation. In their various long correspondence, maintained more on Hildegard's part than his; Hildegard had outlined her studies on childbed fever and concluded that most women would have been rendered feverish and babbling on the third day. He gave an internal shrug at this contradiction, if it's not a herb, it's magic, he decided, perhaps it's the manor's magic, could even be Jozin's. Now to that letter, the babies, Hildegard had written, would require a wetnurse. If the mother survived, it was advised not to-

Bart blinked, smacking his face with his hand, suddenly remembering the child in the younger maid's arms, " _How is the child?_ " he said, " _Is there anything-_ "

Jozin said, " _No_." 

The younger woman holding the baby said, " _Yes._ "

Bart glanced at Jozin, who looked resigned. " _You can examine her_ ." he said, and to the maid, " _But you hold her Rana_."

" _Of course, m'lord_." said Rana, motioning Bart towards a chair where she sat down and he kneeled next to her.

The baby was underweight that was clear. She whined when he gently unbuttoned her shift to check her heart. He tapping in time he turned to Jozin, and asking, " _Is there a wetnurse in the town? It's not wise to feed her when you are taking the concoction._ "

" _There's a woman saying she would come days ago._ " said Lida, " _But m'lord said that she shouldn't exert herself so soon after her birth-_ "

Bart barely concealed his laugh. Truly Jozin had his ducks in order. " _I'll make certain no one harasses her_." he offered.

" _No need_ ." said Rana, " _She will be fine. I will have one of the-_ " she paused, " _I'll have it done by noon_."

" _She's got lovely eyes_ ," said Bart, " _Her heart beats fine, she's small maybe_ ," he buttons up the shift, smiling at the green eyes that blinked sleepily at him. " _But perhaps it won't hurt..._ " he stood up, rummaging through his bag again, " _Lida?_ "

He handed her a glass bottle wrapped in dark paper. The older woman took it gingerly, " _What is it?_ " she asked him. 

" _It comes with this-_ " he handed her the slip of paper in his sister's handwriting, " _it's one of my sister's concoctions, she swears by it, says she's given it to every child. Something about blood flow in a newborn._ "

The older woman still looked skeptical, but she relaxed when she saw the tiny owl sealed red wax on the paper. " _A fellow sister,_ " she said, looking impressed. " _You have a fascinating family, Bartholomew._ "

" _The best._ " said Bartholomew in half agreement. " _I'll see to my brother now, if you please, lord Jozin._ "

He lets a tendril of magic swirl around the room, a last look, as they say in the Academy, and it sang faintly as it touched the tapestry, the chest of drawers, and, oh was that a bow? A very specific bow mind you, used by a very specific archer. Bart was privately impressed. Wizards usually don't mix weapons with magic, that was considered too revolutionary. How intriguing. He bowed, smiling, and made to leave. Rana muttered something to Jozin as he left the room. Truly the Goddess was capricious in her designs, Bart thinks he would have made a great diplomat.

He immediately sobers up when he sees Nikolas's face. 

"What were you doing?" his brother demanded coolly.

Bart thinks the chamberlain is looking at them with a strange sort of delight. Something similar to that of a spider with a fly. He weighs his words cautiously. 

"You didn't tell me he had childbed fever. If I didn't come earlier, it would have been quite hard to recover from that." said Bart. 

Nikolas blinked at him. "How would I know?" said Nikolas. 

Hopefully the slight stress on the last word was guilt. "It doesn't matter. I gave him Penicillium, he should be fine."

"Is this how you indebt yourself to him?" said Nikolas. 

The accusatory tone was back. Goddess Nikolas had grown paranoid in the Capital. 

"You're very quick to accuse me of things-" he gave a half look to the chamberlain, "I'll let you know, I smoothed things over very well."

"He miraculously agreed?" said Nikolas. 

"I'm not a saint, that would be no less of a miracle-" said Bartholomew, 

The chamberlain laughed at this. 

"He told me he wanted to correspond with the Queen herself, to confirm whatever she said." said Bart.

Nikolas looked unconvinced. "Why would I just give him the means to talk to the Queen?" 

"Because," said Bart, patiently, "sometimes a physical letter persuades more than a word from a knight."

That did it. Bart breathed an internal sigh of relief.

"I suppose you're right." said Nikolas, he looked at the chamberlain, "Would you mind delivering the quill to _Lady Skapina_ , once I've told the Queen he wishes to correspond with her directly?"

Bart noticed that the spindly man blinks at how Nikolas addressed Jozin. He decided to think about this later tonight. 

"My pleasure." said the chamberlain.

It would be interesting to read what Lord Jozin decides worthy of her Royal Majesty's eyes. He found himself regretting perhaps not taking up the Transformation Runes. A fly on the wall to truly fascinating times, the Icfeld Queen having a written, bloodless skirmish with a carrier.


	5. Jozin

It didn't take him too long to find ten people willing to leave his father's army and come back to Skapina. Jozin thinks that if they weren't scared of the consequences from being seen as too eager to leave, he would have at least fifty people waiting outside his tent. Lord Pierre would undoubtedly have the final say in who he could take with him, but he thinks his father would agree to part with the ten he had decided upon. 

Two spots had already been filled by his maids. Rana, for obvious reasons, and Gunnla, who had, in her words, "Seen enough of the fighting m'lord". She'd been one of the last girls to enter his service, mainly because her father was a blacksmith who saw the opportunity in having the ear of his lord's child. Her position, Gunnla had told him, was due to him petitioning the Cook with shiny baubles. "But it's me skill too," she added defensively, "No girl can lift half what I can." He would have thought she was the type to want her name sung in songs, something the lines of Gunnla's Hammer. But there she was, asking to leave the battlefield that she, months earlier had been eager to see. 

He was surprised to see Valdi, Skapina's Marksman now balding and white bearded, be the first to show up at his tent. "Lord Pierre can spare an old arthritic man of the winter cold." he said, "I'll be more useful freezing in Skapina than I would with the army." the old man paused, cracking his knuckles, "And you'll be wise, m'lord to take the eight that follows me, I trained them proper, and vouch for them personally."

Jozin nodded, "I'll see it for myself." he said, to a grunt from the man, who settled himself down, quite uninvited on the cushion next to Jozin. 

There was no need to doubt. The eight that followed after Valdi Jozin recognized as under Surio's command. Several of them were boys that he and Surio had trained with. It was better them than someone he didn't know. 

Remil, straightforward and honest, had immediately blurted out upon his arrival, "We promised Surio we'd protect him and-"

"Shut up you daftie-" snapped Preta, looking disgusted from his place next to him, "What Remil meant to say is we are very fond of Surio, and would very much like to offer our services to you."

"Preferably to you than Lord Pierre." added Dremuk, committing treason. 

The other seven looked at him, and then at the closed tent door with varying degrees of horror. 

"Perhaps don't say that again." Jozin suggested. 

"Dremuk's a better shot than he is with words." offered Preta, glaring at Dremuk, who hung his head in shame, "That's why we _agreed_ that I would speak for us, did we not?"

"I'd prefer if you all keep silent when Lord Pierre sees you in the morning." said Jozin, "Otherwise-" he looked at Valdi, who held up his right hand and mimed cutting his pointer finger off. 

Dremuk looked visibly ill. 

"Of course, m'lord." said Preta, adding, "If you don't mind, we will bring our tents next to yours for tonight." he gave the others an indiscernible look, and they all bowed and left. 

It was only the three of them in the tent. Preta scratched his neck distractedly, then said, "I, I mean, we, should've said something to you earlier. We were ashamed-" Preta shifts from one foot to the other. 

"Go on, boy, spit it out." said Valdi, "I've seen arrows fly faster."

"I mean, we should've done something and we didn't, and-" he pauses, taking a deep breath, and saying in a rush, "we wish to give our sincere condolences and swear our allegiance to you, Lady Skapina."

He falls to one knee at the last two words. From his side, Jozin feels the bow flare with warmth. 

"Lady Skapina." said Valdi, reverently, in the same kneeling position as Preta. 

"I don't..." Jozin paused, "I don't understand."

"Surio said those words to you, did he not?" said Valdi, "That's the start of the spell, Lady Skapina, and we give its strength to you now."

He thinks back to his mother, and how every one called her Lady Skapina, and it dawned on him.

"It's that simple?" he said, shocked. 

"You silly boy." said Valdi, half amused, sounding very much like he did when training him as a child, "We believe in you, and thus the magic would also."

In the weeks and days that they spent tailing and picking off Sir Nikolas's company, and many spent arrows later, it dawned to Jozin that one of the arrows he'd fired might have killed the man that cut down Surio. Not that he would ever know who dealt the blow, all the Icfeld men wore the same uniforms. It was unfair. He had outgrown fairy stories long ago, but Skapina, under his father ran on justice. Would justice not be personally killing the man who took his future away from him? Surio had miraculously managed to obtain his father's permission, and his life was taken away in a blink of an eye. 

He knew he'd started a new obsession. He had acted similarly when Lord Pierre hired a new Runes tutor, a hunchbacked wizard from lands further than Icfeld. The wizard had given his name as Sonnio, and while surly and short tempered in the beginning, soon became animated and excited when Jozin proved himself to be a capable learner. 

"What a shame, what a shame." he'd said, "I always suspected the magical arts would benefit from less segregation." he'd paused, twirling his quill theatrically, "I'd always wondered if carriers had a certain inclination towards mastering it. Perhaps it's just you, perhaps hmm..." 

He trailed off as he usually did, and Jozin had taken the opportunity to take a break from the monotony of tracing Runes. 

"Do you know what happens to carriers outside Skapina?" he asked. 

"Hmm?" Sonnio said, "Oh, carriers, you said carriers. I don't know much about them personally, little lord. You understand, I would never be allowed within an arm's reach of one. In general... hmm.." he frowns, "I can only say for Icfeld. From what I know, the rich families of Icfeld tend to send them off the monasteries. An offering to the Goddess, it is understood. Perhaps marriage, but it is the case that nobles there tend to prefer wedding women and men." he pauses, scratching at his beard, "It's also believed that carriers tend to have difficult pregnancies and birth, and of course, nobles see investment in unions, and an untimely death often leads to some war or another."

"What about the common folk?" asked Jozin, "It can't be only noble families that have carriers?"

"Perhaps they live normally?" suggested Sonnio looking surprised at the question, "It is not as if the common folk have a need to gain lands and titles. Though I suspect, if I may be so inclined to say, that carriers would live their lives out as ordinary men. No need for all that blood and mess in-" 

Sonnio trails off, giving Jozin a stern look, "You've me rambling again, my lord, please show me what you have done so far."

He'd given the Runes a critical look, saying, "Do you realize writing your L's and R's can mean the difference between life and death?"

The hunchback wizard was one of the few people outside Skapina who never really cared much about him being a carrier. The merchants that came, once realizing the nature of Lord Pierre's heir had smiled too brightly and leaned in too close. Lord Pierre said he would have to deal with them when he took over Skapina, and refused to appoint anyone else to Jozin's position. Their behavior escalated, with a particularly lecherous merchant cornering him in a corridor, complimenting his pretty eyes. He was found the next day with arrows through both his eyes, and that put a stop to their unwanted behavior. Jozin had confronted Surio about it, telling him he simply did not need or want anyone to defend him. This earned him a belly laugh from Surio, who told him there were archers a plenty in Skapina who liked him well enough, and well, the merchant had harassed plenty others in Skapina, if he couldn't keep his eyes to himself, then he didn't particularly need them, did he? 

Jozin was unconvinced. It was very obvious that Surio was behind it all, and he told Surio that his lies were as convincing as that time one girl tried to claim to an angry Cook that a dozen goose eggs she's produced as a replacement for the chicken eggs she's broken was one and the same. He would like to think he walked off with a huff, though in retrospect, it was more like a sulk. Later that night, Surio had then bribed Rana with three crossed buns to let him in Jozin's room to apologize. 

"I promise not to do so again." he said, to Jozin's unimpressed face, "But for my sake, can you please tell someone when you're made uncomfortable in your own halls? It feels like suffering for the sake of suffering. The sort of thing Icfelders do in their churches."

"I'm not some helpless maiden that would run to everyone for help." said Jozin irritably, "You treat me like one."

"Are you certain? Everyone only treats you so because you're different-" he holds out his hands defensively, "Let me finish-" he continues, "It's not stupid to ask for help or protection when a violent encounter," he pauses, "with you, can result in an unexpected… problem." his face was red, "I wouldn't have a similar problem." he added looking at the floor. 

"You think, " said Jozin, very slowly, "That I wouldn't know how to solve such a problem?"

Surio looked at him dumbly, "There's ways to solve that?"

"Yes." said Jozin, rolling his eyes, "Everyone-" he pauses, "Every woman knows there's a solution to that."

"Oh." said Surio, chastised, "But, well, I'd like to help you. You don't have to sit through some leering bastard's attempts to imitate a mating call."

They stared at each other, until Jozin broke the silence and said, "Maybe I can find another solution."

That conversation lead to Sonnio helping him write the protective the Runes in the manor. It was almost a hypnotic, writing the same Rune again and again and again with the wizard. It worked so well, they were soon approached by other households in Skapina. Sonnio was more than delighted to be suddenly welcomed into many houses, and took his time in drawing each Rune. Perhaps the excitement and exertion in this task was what lead to the stroke that killed Sonnio in his bed. He'd had on that day, completed writing the Runes in the entirety of Skapina. Jozin would like to think Sonnio would have liked that. Circles and completion had been something Sonnio had been fond of after all. 

Perhaps there was a series, perhaps a combination of Runes that could lead him to Surio's killer. It was all he could think about, tracing potential combinations on the cold ground with a stick. Rana, as predicted, was the first to look concerned.

"You should eat more m'lord." she said, offering him a piece of her bread, "Perhaps you'd like to come out with the others? They're playing One Lie Two Truths. It's always great fun."

"It's alright." said Jozin, "Don't worry about me, I'm just thinking."

She bit her lip. "Of course, m'lord, but you should finish your meal."

The younger woman must have mentioned her concerns to Valdi because the Marksman himself unceremoniously came into Jozin's tent a few moments later.

"What are you writing, boy?" he asked, and when Jozin opened his mouth to reply interrupted with, "Never mind, I don't much care for Rune work. I'd like to tell you a story, as old men like to do."

There was no interrupting Valdi when he wanted to tell a story.

"Do you know, I wasn't always such a good archer?" he nodded sagely, "Very strange to imagine, no doubt, I've heard you lot whisper that I was born with a bow in my hands. No, I was born a sheepherder's son. It was your grandmother's time, and Skapina's lords weren't as _civilized_ as they are now today." the older man swallows, "It was typical of those times that a lord could just ride up and demand whatever he wishes from whoever happens to live in his path. Livestock, women, daughters, they don't much care." he sighed, "You are not so dense as to understand what happened, yes? One rode up, demanded things, and when it didn't go his way, torched down the entire house and my family locked in it."

Valdi gave him a serious look. "I wanted to kill him. I took a Rune carved bow one of his soldiers left on the ground and put all my anger into it. Anger and hate, as any witch or wizard may say, gives a perfect channel for magic. I didn't know it, but it also gave the bow an unerring accuracy. A life of its own one might say, and I took it to the lord's house and shot him in the head with it." Valdi's hands were shaking, looking, for the first time Jozin knew him, scared, "Of course you don't walk up to a lord and shoot him, you have to shoot everyone who stands in his way. An entire family line, an entire town, wiped from the face of earth herself. When they found me, your grandmother's council wanted to condemn me to death, and she stepped in. She said..." he paused again, "she said no one should be condemned to die while their actions are under the influence of magic. There's a reason why you don't see any Runes on weapons in Skapina... excepting yours."

The older man tapped the Runes Jozin had scrawled on the floor, "Look, boy, I don't know what you plan to do. I'm no witch myself, but you see what I did, just one man and one bow. You go on planning whatever it is, finding whoever that man maybe and you won't just be one man with a bow. Preta would no doubt convince his friends to join you. Perhaps your father might think this is a boon, and send his army off to follow your trail too. And they are not what I was, an untrained sheepherder's boy, orphaned and angry." Valdi pauses, "Please think this over, Lady Skapina. I beg of you, as your Marksman and your teacher."

Jozin thought of Surio, of the whispered promises they'd made together and felt his hands clenched involuntarily. He wanted it. He wanted the man dead who killed Surio. He then saw a much younger Valdi, bow in and mad with vengeance. It would be a bloodbath unlike anything Skapina, no maybe Icfeld would ever see in its years of civil war. 

He hadn't cried when Surio died, nor when they burnt the body with the other fallen soldiers. He could taste the tears now as the dam broke and broken sobs came from his mouth. He made to muffle the sounds with his fist but Valdi gently moved his hand away, pulling him into an embrace.

The older man said nothing, but in that night, far away from the battlefields and Skapina maybe nothing needed to be said.


	6. Nikolas

Every child has an earth shattering moment in childhood, Nikolas was sure. Something along the lines of "Ouch, that really hurts, don't do that again", "Shouldn't have swiped seven butter cakes and eat them at once", or "you are not the favorite child." His was the latter. Of course, in a family as big as Nikolas's, with two sets of twins and six others, one would come to suspect it. His family wasn't the biggest in their little village, to be fair, but his mother was well respected for keeping all ten of her children alive past the age of five. A true blessing from the Goddess, and his mother had been visited by many a woman in the village and others nearby for her advice and prayers. Ten children; the eldest twins Richan and Brytha, Nikolas, then another set of twins Guigo and Diasa, as they were known before entering the church, and five girls following, Marigold, Sanna, Lianne, Felie and Ada. 

It could be that his childhood was not as rosy as he remembered it. He could say, definitely, when it all went wrong. The Church had called it a Reckoning. It was a test of faith, the nuns and priests said from their pulpits. It took the elderly who doubted their lot in life, they preached. They soon sang a different tune when the more faithful amongst them lost children to the plague that swept through Icfeld. It took the Queen Mother in her bed, and crowned them a new Queen, a child of only ten. All through the plague his mother had held steadfast to her beliefs. 

His youngest sister Ada, was five at the time, and his siblings all thought that she was the last. It was not the case, during the peak of the Plague, when Nikolas lost count of the carts passing by their house, his mother had tearfully announced her pregnancy. They had reacted with joy, at first, but their joy was short lived, because Ada took ill the next day. Their father was stiff and perfunctory at her funeral two days later, but he locked himself in his study and refused to come out for the joint funeral of Richan, Felie and Lianne done hastily not soon after their deaths. Richan's twin Brytha was the only brave enough to enter and convinced him to at least tend to his business matters. By the time the Plague was done taking its share of Icfeld, their household, thought to have been blessed before, now looked like a graveyard. 

  
  


The people who used to visit his mother for advice now smiled viciously amongst themselves. Their gossip was that his mother had refused the Goddess's blessing of an eleventh child, and thus, She had punished her more than the others. No one could say what happened for sure, as no doctor attended their eleventh sibling's birth. His mother had claimed that she was born stiff and blue, and that she had buried her with their other siblings. It would be cruel to doubt her, but it bought the gossipers and likeminded a vicious glee to see a blessed woman bought down to their level. It certainly didn't help that his mother's reaction to her accusers was indifference, and not the forgiving motherly behavior that the Church expected. They closed their doors to her too. 

He watched his mother walk in and out of their house in a trancelike state, misnaming his siblings and only ever sometimes recognizing them. She would spend days in her room, and sounds of praying and soft ringing of bells could be heard. Whether or not the Goddess answered her prayers, Nikolas never could say. 

In her absence, his father ran the house with an iron fist. He'd patched the hole in his heart, as one might say, with the drink. Aldelm had first turned to his second born Nikolas, the spare, to apprentice the trade. It proved disastrous. Nikolas could not, even when he tried, understood what was put in front of him. The words and numbers blended together in black swirls of nonsense, as hard as he could to make sense of them. He could replicate them with accuracy, but Aldelm had no use for replication, and Brytha was quick to point out his mistakes. A part of him, he thinks will always be resentful of his older sister for vying for their father's attention. She would have inherited anyway, as the second eldest, there was no reason for the antagonism. She must have wanted their father's love, but she should've known better, Aldelm's love came with the condition that you add to the family coffer.

"Take up Runes." his father had suggested to him one day, before closing the office door and ushering Brytha into his study instead. Guigo was the one that bested him then, his younger brother earning the praise of the wizard visiting to recruit new students to the Academy. And so it went, with every single Aldelm-approved trade that Nikolas attempted to learn in their village. Scribing? Well that was the same as Runes wasn't it, and Sanna in any case has the most beautiful handwriting in the family. Woodcarving? Marigold was the more skilled artisan. Medicine? Diasa gave him an apology and turned to beam at her newly given uniform. She would later join the Church and take the name Hildegard at her initiation. At the very least, she was the only sibling who didn't rub it in. 

He was possibly good at sketching and painting, the one time he tried his hand at it, but Aldelm had scoffed at that, telling him that painters and penniless were two words that go hand in hand. All in all, Nikolas felt like a spectator in his siblings' very accomplished lives. On the many days that he felt the world's greatest jest, he would go to his mother's room. No one in his family disturbed her when she was there, and it was often that she didn't notice when he slipped in anyway. She never quite responded when he tried talked to her. The few times she did, she had offered him placating words and nothing more. On his seventeenth birthday, though, she suddenly suggested something he did not think of. 

"Maybe you'd find your way in the Capital, my son." she said. He hopes she means him and not his brother's ghost. 

"I don't have the money. You know father keeps his money locked tighter than a dragon's purse."

"I have just the thing." she told him, going off to her vanity. 

She came back, a proud smile on her pale face, holding out a silver locket and a handful of copper coins. "I received this at my initiation into the Church." she said, dreamily, "You can have it."

Nikolas stared at the locket. "I can't take this mother." he said, "It's yours."

"Nikolas," said his mother, her eyes suddenly clear, "I'm giving it to you. Consider it your birthday gift."

That was how at seventeen he found himself hailing a rickety wagon headed towards the Capital, a bundle of his possessions slung over his shoulder, his mother's locket around his neck, tucked under his shirt and the copper coins securely in his boot. 

A few weeks of scavenging around in the bowels of the Capital later, he was lucky enough to trip a man running past, with cries of "Get him!" from the crowd. Nikolas was no stranger to wrestling, and pinned the man down on reflex. When the Capital guards dragged the man off, clapping him in chains, he'd looked up to see the face of a blond girl staring down at him with an intrigued smile. 

"It's not everyday you find a man that saves you wearing an Initiate's necklace." said the young Queen from her horse. "Tell me, sir, what boon should I give you for assisting in the arrest of my traitor uncle?"

Obviously Nikolas knew that Icfeld had a young queen. She was crowned rather tumultuously in fog and ashes after all. Of course this lead to rampant speculation, one being whether or not the Goddess truly meant for her to be on the throne, another, more hushed one was more along the treasonous line of thought. The Queen Mother was healthy, by all accounts, and her taking ill while secluded was too much of a coincident, these whispers say. All of these rumors and more he heard from the merchants coming in and out of his father's house. Aldelm was quick to hush these rumors though. "Not in my house!" Nikolas could imagine him saying, then going swiftly back to business, "Now what about the prices of that arbour wine..."

Not many of them sang praises her beauty, which now, Nikolas supposed, was possibly for the better. The Queen had no classic features that poets sing of Icfeld maidens. To put in Hildegard's nicer words, "One prays that the Goddess's blessings was delayed." 

"Well?" said the Queen, from her horse again, "Did you not hear me?"

"I apologize, your Highness." said Nikolas, he paused, "Please excuse me, I wasn't quite sure if the boon I ask for would be too much."

The Queen paused, staring at him, now curious. "Pray tell, what is it?" she said. 

"I am off to find my fortunes, your Highness." said Nikolas, "Would it trouble you greatly for me to join your household guard?"

She blinks at him, surprised. "Hm." she said. "I suppose you may."

That was how he found himself in the castle, as one of the new recruits. It was nowhere near the Queen, that was clear, it would be beyond foolish for her to simply take in a boy from the streets into her direct household. He knew to kept his head down and work his way up. Alchelm taught him well, at least, on that front. His father did not give any of his children a martial education, that was beneath them, and only pauper boys and rich men's spare sons join the army, he had said, but at this Nikolas found himself to be competent. It was almost like a chess game. He'd played it before, and was good at beating the merchants that visited his father's house at it as a boy. Some of the games were memorable, such as that one time a lady from the colder lands had come with her young son. Nikolas knew they were far off, simply from their clothes. No other merchant wore that many layers. The boy, Nikolas remembered, was brown haired and bright eyed, looking around everywhere with an excited curiosity. He'd peppered Nikolas with many questions, and only sat down when Nikolas offered to play a game with him. The boy had looked vaguely disappointed when he had bought out the chess board, but politely agreed to play a game.

"Where are you from?" Nikolas had asked, conversationally to him. When the boy took off his furs to sit down, Nikolas was taken aback by the odd totem he wore around his neck. It wasn't a symbol of the Goddess, the inverted triangle that somehow conveyed a woman's power, that was certain. It looked like a dragon, though, he had never seen a dragon without wings. 

He was given a laugh, and a shrugged reply of, "I'm from the North. Clearly." the other boy moved his pawn to E4.

Nikolas had rolled his eyes and replied with the same sarcasm, "Yes, clearly, those kinds of furs aren't worn here. I'm not stupid." he slammed his pawn down to E5 slightly harder than usual.

The other boy smiled brightly, "Is it an Icfeld thing? For a host to ask where their guests come from? We never ask merchants where they come from. It's bad luck, makes the journey home harder for merchants, hmm...", he paused, moving his knight to F3.

Nikolas frowns, pausing his game, "That doesn't even make sense at all."

"Does too." replied the boy, staring at him expectantly, "You don't want witches to know of your comings and goings."

"You have witches?" said Nikolas, intrigued. Everyone knew about wizards, they sometimes come to trade things and search the town for potential students. 

"Yes." replied the boy, "Dozens of them."

"I've never met a witch." said Nikolas, "They don't live in houses, do they?"

"Ah, you probably don't want to visit a witch in her house." said the boy. "Mother says you won't likely come back out. But when you meet a witch she's usually friendly."

"I wouldn't know." said Nikolas.

"You're a merchant's son, aren't you?" said the boy, "Maybe your father would let you go to Skapina. You'll see plenty of witches there."

"My father's training my elder sister." said Nikolas snappishly.

They lapsed into silence moving their pieces rapidly for a while after that until they were at stalemate. 

"You're pretty good at this game." said the boy, impressed. "If you really want to see witches, you should come by Skapina anyways. One would let you in if you play this good a game with her."

"So are you." said Nikolas, staring at the board. He doubts he would win a game against a witch. Were they not the sort to read minds? 

Their stalemate was interrupted by the lady, the boy's mother, Nikolas realized, returning from his father's rooms. "We can finish the game when I come back." the boy had offered, waving as he boarded the carriage with his mother. As with the promises of children he never did. He and his mother was also one of his father's many one time dealings, and as was tradition, it was only ever recorded as _Northern merchant lady,_ _furs_ , in his father's books. It was a shame, Nikolas would have wanted to finish the game.

Now, back to his life at the castle, the weapons training, and the rudimentary battle tactics taught here and there on the training ground came natural to him. It was simply making a series of guesses on what your opponent would do, and that Nikolas had plenty of experience. For the first time he was the one being given jealous looks. Hildegard would undoubtedly sigh deeply, muttering something about, "Pride is the downfall of man.", but Nikolas didn't much care. He had found something he was good at, and no one could take that from him. 

Luck was on his side the day Lady Laberts, the Queen's General, called him to her small office after morning drills. 

"You seem to be quite a swordsman, my boy." said Lady Laberts, chins wobbling as she nodded the compliment, "But I've never heard of your house, where have you been hiding?"

"I'm a merchant's son, my lady." Nikolas offered. 

"Merchant's son, eh?" said Lady Laberts, jovially, "I see. Off to seek your fortunes, or something of the sort?"

"Something like that, yes, my lady." replied Nikolas. 

"I see. I see." said Lady Laberts, she eyed the door. "Will you please close the door, my boy? I have a task that may be better suited to your skills."

"Of course, my lady." said Nikolas, going to the door to close it, half wondering what Lady Laberts was wanting him to do that needed secrecy. Fetch her a bottle of wine from the heavily guarded cellar? Lady Laberts never came to any of their morning drills, and one often sees her face peeking out from the window overlooking the training grounds. The last time Nikolas had seen her was at the Autumn feast where three recruits had to carry her off to her bedroom after the Lady had one too many cups of wine.

"I noticed you are of better character than the other lot, no _seamstressing_ or drinking." said Lady Laberts, stressing the second verb with a practiced condescensionm "I'd like to propose a promotion. If you would accept it." 

"A promotion," said Nikolas, "May I ask to who and where?"

"Of course, of course, clever boy." said Lady Laberts, "To my household. Only temporary. I will reinstate you to the guards when your services are no longer needed. At a higher position, obviously. Do you accept?"

"What would I be doing at your household, my lady?" asked Nikolas, face passive, his heart loudly beating in his chest. He dug his fingernails into his fisted palms. 

"You'll be keeping an eye on one of my children." said Lady Laberts, "It's all very simple guard duty, and I bet you'll be up for it." she pulls a heavy purse from under her belt and pulls out a handful of silver coins, "A deposit for your troubles. A merchant's son like you, would understand, yes?" she smiled winningly, "I'll see you outside the barracks, tomorrow morning."

Everyone knew that Lady Laberts never took a proper husband, and as a result, her children took her name, a rather scandalous thing to do according to the Queen's court of gossipers. Many rumors surround her, most of them speculations on who she really fancied in the Queen's court. The one everyone agreed on was that she used to be quite a fighter back in her youth, and now relied heavily on magical means instead of swords and spears. It was why she never bothered to, as they say, watch her figure or train with the new recruits.

"I'll see myself out, my lady." said Nikolas, pocketing the coins and making his leave. 

True to her word, the next morning Lady Laberts was there to greet the trainees. "Back to training you all." she waved a hand dismissively, "Nikolas Aldemfils? Come with me."

There were several curious looks shot his way as he saluted and walked up to Lady Laberts. It would be foolish not to take the opportunity, he had reasoned while lying in his cot last night. So he did, and for the second time since he came to the capital, found himself in another castle, albeit, not as fancy as the one he'd left. 

Lady Laberts didn't ride with him to the castle, instead directing Nikolas to ride with her guards, while she climbed into a waiting carriage. They were quickly ushered through the gates by the castle's chamberlaid when they arrived, and Nikolas followed the older woman into main hall of the castle. 

"Gervais, go fetch Elis." said Lady Laberts, sitting herself down on a cushioned armchair with a groan, "And tell him the Goddess won't help him if I have to come up there myself." she reached for the wine glass and bottle helpfully placed on the table nearby. 

"Is he the one I am supposed to be guarding, my lady?" said Nikolas, standing a reasonable distance away, slightly taken aback by the name, "Elis?" he clarified. 

"Yes. Yes." said Lady Laberts, busy fiddling with the cork. "It is a maid's name, I know, I did not misspoke."

"Of course not, my lady." said Nikolas. 

Lady Laberts shot him a skeptical look, and shrugged, taking a sip of the wine, "Elis, Elias, Eli. What does it matter? I've already a daughter to inherit, and married off several sons. After a while, they all blend together. Did you not come from a large family yourself?"

"Yes, my lady." said Nikolas, privately happy that his mother and father were vaguely sensible and not malicious in naming him and his siblings. 

"Are your sisters married perchance? You understand the importance of marriage and establishing ties, do you not?"

"I beg pardon, my lady, but I don't understand what is it you ask?" said Nikolas. 

"Not so smart then, are you?" said Lady Laberts, laughing. SHe suddenly sobered, then said, "Well, you do know what carriers are, yes?" this was said with a finger pointed in Nikolas's direction.

"Of course." said Nikolas, "They can have children, as the Goddess-"

"The Goddess says and wants many things." interrupted Lady Laberts, irritably, "In any case, I am tired of her priests and nuns pestering me for a contribution to the church. I have contributed a fair share myself." the woman paused, wiping an errant stream of wine from her chin, "They all said it was bad luck to have a carrier as your youngest."

"I… yes, my lady." said Nikolas in dawning understanding. 

"So that is what you would do for me. I've gotten some fair offers for Elis, and you'll be guarding him, right here, until I see an offer fit for the taking. If all goes well, you'll be back in the capital before long, and with a promotion to boot. No more bunking with the other young grasshoppers. I'll make sure you get a decent place. Maybe even a marriage, if you are interested."

"I understand, my lady." said Nikolas, feeling a deep pity for Elis. Aldelm was bad in his own way but oddly forward thinking in a sense. He never really pressed them to marry anyone. Though perhaps he did slyly encourage Diasa to marry Oloz with the fatter purse and bigger ships. 

His pity was sorely tested when he met Elis, who was all polite smiles and nods when Lady Laberts informed him of the new situation, but gave him a look of seething hatred when Lady Laberts rolled away and the castle's doors swung shut.

"How much did my mother pay you to be Saint Nikolas the nursemaid?" said Elis, scornfully.


	7. Nikolas

"I don't know, Lord Elis." Nikolas replied mildly, half smiling, "Do you need a nursemaid?"

There were times when having a gaggle of siblings came in handy. Felie and Lianne, Goddess bless them, were quite the terror when they ran around the house. The two were most likely responsible for no less than five maids resigning from Alchelm's house. Among the many things he remembered them doing were rigging buckets of water, pouring tar on the stairs, and, on one famous occasion, smuggling a chicken inside Alchelm's study. The resulting squawks and angry shouts that rang throughout the house was observed with two pairs of gleeful eyes and Nikolas's horrified one. Lianne had refused his pleas to stop. "Sure, sure," she said, rolling her eyes when he told them off, "Come off your high horse, Saint Nikolas, you should join us." She'd stopped pranks and went for more subtle tricks as she grew up, adding negotiation and bribery to her list of accomplishments, and a part of him half wonders what she would have grown up to be. What both of them would have been, honestly, Felie could rival Lianne. He hadn't been called Saint Nikolas in a while, and couldn't help the smile on his face at the attempted insult. So he's dealing with a rather pampered boy, what's the worst that can happen? 

"I'm Master Elis, to you." said Elis, forcefully. 

"Understood, Master Elis." said Nikolas, affably. 

This remark earned him a deep skeptical frown. "Gervais can show you where to put your things," said Elis, "I'm going back to my room." he announced loudly to the courtyard in general before stomping off. 

Elis, as Nikolas was soon to find out, did not endear himself particularly well to the servants at the household. It could be, perhaps, that Lord Laberts was a penny pincher that only kept his castle equipped with the bare necessities, and that included wages. Nikolas supposed he would have quit too, if he was a maid working at the Laberts castle. It could be possible to earn more, seamstressing in the shadier parts of the Capital for a week than at Laberts castle for a month. Not to mention, there would be no daily dealings with a morose and petulant Elis. He couldn't quite understand the young carrier's behavior. One day he would be locked up in his room, disdainfully remarking on the inferior cooking skills of the Cook, the next day Nikolas would be forced to track him down from somewhere in the nearby woods, and so on, and so on. 

After one particularly wet and muddy trek on a rainy day, Nikolas found him underneath a willow tree. 

"May I inquire, Master Elis." said Nikolas, "Why you insist on going on merry chases? You know I would always find you."

  
"Eventually you won't." said Elis. 

"Hmph." said Nikolas, "Is this how you got all the others to quit, Master Elis?"

"No." said Elis, plucking up a handful of grass and throwing them away. "Gervais let them go for _reasons_." he spat out the last word. 

"I see." said Nikolas, "I suppose they were, to quote your father, whoring and drinking?"

"No." said Elis, looking at him in the same manner as one inspects a moldy biscuit, "They were being _inappropriate_ towards me, you idiot. I can't imagine-"

"You can go on, Master Elis." Nikolas said, shrugging, "I've heard the same from my mother. It all blends together eventually."

Privately he mulled over the new information, and half wondered if that was why carriers were usually packed off to the monastery. The soldiers he'd bunked with certainly had their fair share of bawdy jokes regarding carriers. Some of the jokes seemed anatomically impossible, and he would know, Hildegard loved going at length into her midwifery studies in their letters. He'd never met a carrier himself, but now that he has, the jokes felt unnecessarily cruel. Elis was pampered sure, but so was the other ladies at court. Though, the ladies there seemed to have some sort of sway over who they would marry. Lady Laberts, having no husband to help sway her in who her children would marry, seemed to have taken all marriage arrangements by herself.

Elis, for the first time, sounded sympathetic, "I didn't realize. Well. I mean, I wouldn't expect you to know, what with you-" he paused, gesturing in Nikolas's general direction, "being a _proper_ man and all."

"Depends on how you define proper," said Nikolas, slowly, "the men who guarded you before, wouldn't be reasonably called proper now, would they?"

"No." said Elis, then paused, "I didn't expect you to say that."

"I was on the streets for awhile around the Capital before entering the Queen's service." said Nikolas, "You see people at their best and worst." he frowns, adding, "Mostly worst, if I'm being honest."

"At least you get to go wherever you please." Elis muttered, "I only ever get so far from this wretched place."

"This wretched place," said Nikolas, "has a warm fire and three meals a day. Now, why don't you come back with me, and try this game of hide and seek another day?"

Elis looked affronted, "You thought this was a game?"

"Well," said Nikolas, affably, "was it not? If you were running away you would've done a much better job. Felie would have given me a harder chase."

"Felie?" asked Elis.

"Felicity," Nikolas clarified, "one of my younger sisters. She would've been a year or two older than you."

"I'm sorry for your loss." offered Elis, standing up, he stared at the willow tree's branches, "You know, my mother likes to remind me that my birth was an unlucky omen. I don't see why she bother having me then, she could've just handed me off to the Church. They don't seem to resent carriers as much as she does."

The rain had fallen to a soft drizzle, but Nikolas offered Elis his cloak on habit. It reminded him of walking Hildegard back from the village church before she left. 

"At the church they will wake you at dawn to pray, every day until you decide to leave. But that's if you have the permission of the High Mother to do so." said Nikolas, "The food isn't that good either, if my sister's words are to be believed. You won't even be able to drink wine. If your mother had given you up to the Church, you'll hate it the same way as you hate it here."

"Are you... criticizing the Church?" said Elis, frowning.

"Joining the Church isn't as romantic as everyone makes it sound." said Nikolas, and Elis was quiet for the rest of the walk back home. 

The boy didn't attempt to make a run of it the next day, or the weeks afterwards. Nikolas was half waiting for the other shoe to drop, until he came upon the idea of writing a letter to Hildegard. Certainly if anyone could advise him on the matter it was his sister. The only problem he face was the lack of scribes in the Laberts castle. When he finally got up the guts to knock on Elis's door to ask, he was given a disbelieving look.

"How did you manage without learning your letters?" said Elis, shocked. 

Nikolas shrugged, rubbing his neck self consciously, "Soldiers don't really need much reading. Or writing." he paused, "Before, I'd asked one of the seamstresses down by Harlot's Chase to write them for me."

"Harlot's Chase?" said Elis, wrinkling his nose, "You're lying," he accused, "The Church would never tolerate-"

"Begging your pardon, Master Elis," Nikolas said, irritated, "The priests and nuns may have petitioned for removal of harlots, and whoever calls themselves one, but that doesn't mean they go away. Why else would there be an alley called Harlot's Chase, filled with _seamstresses_?"

The boy narrowed his eyes at this statement, "You shouldn't speak that way of the Church." he said, snappishly. 

"It's true." said Nikolas, frowning, "If you'd go to the Capital, you'll see."

"Of course. As if those chattering fools there would stand my company. I'll _ruin mother's reputation_." replied Elis coolly, "I still think you're lying."

"I've never lied to you." said Nikolas, "Believe me or not, that's my experience there." he sighed deeply, "Please, can you tell me where I can find a scribe?"

"We don't have scribes here." said Elis, "It's an unnecessary expense." _that my mother won't pay for_ was the unsaid implication. Elis paused, possibly seeing Nikolas's disappointment, "What do you need to write? I can do it for you." he hesitated, "Or I can teach you. It's not like I have much to do these days."

"You wouldn't be the first to try to teach me." Nikolas muttered, to which Elis raised an eyebrow. 

"You must had a terrible teacher." he said.

"I wouldn't know." offered Nikolas, "I was told I'm a terrible student."

"We'll see." said Elis. 

The lessons that followed, Nikolas thinks, probably gave Elis a taste of his own medicine. They've started with the easiest of Elis's prayer books, then, when that didn't work, Elis had dug up a battered copy of fairy tales. 

"Why is it so difficult for you?" Elis had snapped more than once, when Nikolas tried discipering the letters, "It's just words."

Nikolas stared at the jumble script and gave a half hearted shrug, "I did say, you aren't the first to teach me."

Elis gave him an affronted look, "I won't give up that easily."

Several lessons later, Elis had pulled out a slate and chalk, handing it to him. "We'll go about it a different way." said Elis. "What exactly are you good at, back in the Capital?"

"We mostly did drills." said Nikolas, clarifying, "Swords, shields, spears and the sort."

"Were you good at them?" said Elis, looking like he was trying very hard to conceal his excitement. 

"Yes." said Nikolas, frowning at the question. 

"What is it about drills, that came easy to you?" said Elis.

"There's only ever several patterns, and-" said Nikolas.

"Well, there you have it," said Elis, "It's the same for writing and reading-" he made sweeping gesture with his hands, "I mean, there are more patterns, but it's only time before you recognize them."

"I don't think-" Nikolas started, and stopped, holding out the slate in his hands, "How are you going to go about teaching me then?"

"Reading is just recognizing patterns." said Elis, "I was going about the wrong way before, I though we'll just read and eventually you'll get it, but I had a thought the other night that a teacher should approach a problem using a student's talents first."

"Perhaps you'd like to be a teacher." said Nikolas, and Elis beamed, before sombering. 

"It won't happen." said Elis, "You know that."

"I-" Nikolas began, thinking of the proposal Lady Laberts offered him. 

"Let's try this approach, shall we?" Elis interrupted, "I don't want to think about it."

Nikolas doubted that he would ever be competent at reading and writing as his siblings. But, there was a certain sense of joy when the words, broken down into parts, now suddenly made sense. Elis then switched him to reading more historical tomes, and he enjoyed reading about the various battles of the Icfeld Kings and Queens passed. He even managed to compose a short letter to his sister, after sometime under Elis's tutelage. 

_My deer Hildegard,_

_I am wirting ask your addvice on a certin issue. I am currenly guarding a carrier sun of Lord Laberts, the Queen's Wur master, who is wanting too marry him off. I tihkn the marrige will be well recepted as the thyme father tryed to pursuade you not to join the Church. How should I best perfom my duties?_

The response came from Hildegard a while later, delivered to him opened and read, as expected.

_My dear brother,_

_Is this your handwriting? I praise the Goddess that you have found someone patient enough to teach you. I never doubted your ability-_

The letter continued for awhile, detailing of her daily activities in the mountain Church. Nikolas half thought that she had missed the coded message he asked of her, until he reached the passage. 

_Do you remember what Father told us once? There are many things a marriage achieves. Land, Wealth, Power. I know you think otherwise, but this rings true to me. Did you remember how hard he pressed Diasa to marry Oloz? I cannot imagine what he would think of Marigold's beau. Please write to me again, it was such a pleasant surprise to read your words. May I suggest reading the Tales of Armina, to improve your spelling._

_Your loving sister,  
_

_Hildegard_

When he asked Elis for a copy of the Tales of Armina, Elis had given him a confused look.

"Why would you even read that dry tome?" said Elis, from his seat near the window, "It's in the library, usually chancellors would read it, but my father's taken ours to the Capital."

"My sister suggested I read it." said Nikolas, to Elis's further bemusement. 

"Your sister is overly fond of torture." said Elis, fiddling with something in his lap, "I can't imagine why one would willingly read Tales of Armina."

There's dark circles underneath Elis's eyes, and he seemed more distracted than usual. 

"Is something the matter?" asked Nikolas. 

"I think… I think mother's finally done it." said Elis, "She's finally found someone."

"Oh." said Nikolas, speechless, "Well."

Elis's lower lip was trembling, and Nikolas felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He was never good at comforting anyone. 

"When did she say it was?" he asked. 

"In a month." said Elis flatly, "She told me to pack my chest. She's coming to fetch me himself. I'm to be handed off to a Lord Folques. A _Lord Folques_ , Nikolas. I'm not even worth a marriage to a Lady." 

"I see." said Nikolas, uncomfortable. From what he'd seen of Elis, he doubts he would ever be happy playing the role of a mother. 

"I expected it anyway." said Elis, "You said it yourself, the Goddess giveth and taketh, and it's beyond our control." he breathed into the glass panes and idly doodled, "I suppose you'll get that promotion you wanted soon."

No one ever called Nikolas a quitter except Alchelm. If there was a way to get himself a promotion and cancel the Lord Labert's plan, he'll do it. Determined, he walked towards the castle's library. The Tales of Armina was on a high shelf, its chain rattling when he pulled it down to a seat nearby to read it. 

Now, what is it that Hildegard wanted him to read? 


	8. Jozin

When his mother died, Lord Pierre had gone on a bloody rampage. Afterwards, he'd ordered her things to be placed in boxes and stored away. The only thing of hers he kept in his room was the wedding chest they'd been presented with on their wedding day. Cook was teary eyed, for the first time since Jozin had known her. 

"What a pity." she had said, sniffing into her apron as she watched over a stream of maids carrying the boxes to the storage room underneath the library, "What a pity."

Jozin was there too, staring at the empty space on the library wall where their family portrait used to hung. 

"Why did he do this?" he said, to no one in particular. 

"Oh child," said Cook, suddenly pulling him to a hug, "It's just the way it goes with men. They shove sad things into a room and throw away the key."

He did not understand her words then, but as he grew up under Lord Piere's iron fist, he quickly became a master at, as Cook put it, _shoving things into a room and throwing away the key._ That was what he was doing now, he thinks, much to Rana's dismay. 

"Are you sure, m'lord, you should be going about in your condition?" she asked, concerned, "Just tell Preta to lead, he's a good shot, he can probably-"

"I'm fine, Rana." Jozin snapped, "I'm not an invalid."

Rana being Rana, the rest of the archers began shadowing him more than necessary. Preta had the sense to at least look apologetic. 

"We are quite far away from a midwife." said the blond, always the pragmatic, "If anything were to happen, we can't get you to decent help."

Dremuk approached it in a completely different path as usual. 

"Have you thought of a name, m'lord?" he asked one night while they sat near the fire. He brazenly ignored the outraged looks directed at him.

"Sorry?" said Jozin, shocked. 

"I mean," Dremuk continued in his usual cheerful tones, "I know it's bad luck in Skapina, naming a child before its birth and such, but it was fine where I came from. They said a named child isn't snatched away."

Remil looked like he wanted very much to jump over the fire and wrap his hands around Dremuk's throat. 

"I never thought of it that way." said Jozin, "I wouldn't know what to name-" he wanted to say it, but stopped himself. 

"Dremuk's a great name," chimed in Ader, usually silent, "A denser child is harder for fairies to cart off."

This earned him a shove from Dremuk, and gales of laughter from the group. 

"Perhaps after your lady mother?" suggested Valdi, "Mira's a lovely name."

There was probably more to the older man's advice. Something along the lines of, _this will sway your lord father's affections_. 

"I'm think about it." said Jozin. 

Surio would have wanted to carry on the Tastow tradition of naming the first born child after their fathers. If it was a girl, he would've insisted on Suriel, maybe even Suria. Jozin thinks this is one of the times where he should prepare a room and a key. 

"But it wouldn't matter yet." he said, "The Skapina tradition is three months until the naming, and Lord Pierre would have a say in it." the unspoken, _I won't_ , was understood. 

"No one's stopping you from giving a cradle name." Gunnla suggested, cracking her bread and dipping it into her soup bowl, "My ma called me Lila, before the naming."

"I'll think about it." Jozin repeated, "And I appreciate your concern. Everyone of you."

He didn't mention that the memory of the wolves and the woman from winters long ago still woke him up from time to time, and haunted him on their long trek back to Skapina. 

"There's something wrong," Valdi said the night that they officially crossed into Skapina borders, "we haven't been approached by a witch."

"Maybe they're preparing for one of them moon dances?" suggested Gennla, her voice slightly muffled from the scarf around her face, "The full moon's in two nights I reckon."

"No." said Jozin, thinking back to the few times he'd met a witch, "Midnight dances don't happen in the winter. I think we shouldn't stop tonight."

Jozin thinks one of the archers groaned at this news, but every Skapina child knew better not to wander around the woods at night without asking for a witch's blessing. Permission, may be the better word, if one meets Baba Yaga. She had been the one to grant his father and their armies protection to pass through the forests after all. 

"It's awfully quiet," Rana remarked, "I don't like it."

It was very quiet, the only sounds were the crunching of their boots on the snow and the occasional whistling of the wind in the trees. The hairs on his arm stood on end, and not because of the biting cold either. He adjusts his cloak, wrapping it tighter around his body, steadfastly ignoring the bump and his straining tunic. 

"We should try an underground passage." Jozin said, "We'll head to the Dragon Paw. It shouldn't be far from here."

"Wouldn't the passage be closed in the winter?" asked Remil, "Usually the merchants would've had them sealed off ages ago."

"Better underground than above ground." said Preta, "Arrows won't keep you safe from witches."

Most people, that is, anyone not from Skapina, believed the only way to reach the holding was to pass through the tall forests and follow the winding road up the mountain. There were other ways, one being through the Dragon Paw, a smaller mountain in a series of four mountains that surround Skapina. It was an underground passage, a more recent creation zealously guarded by the merchant guilds residing in Skapina. It likely all started because Master Thaldi refused to empty his pouch for any witch, and the witches allowed it because it wasn't worth their trouble to argue with him over some, in the witches' opinions at least, petty baubles. Master Thaldi was old and frail, with several sons and daughters vying to take over his place at the guild, but he clung on in sheer stubbornness. He would undoubtedly the type to negotiate with Death the fee for his reaping and presumably Death has so far refused the offer. 

The passage was too small for an army to pass through, but their group was small enough. 

"Are you sure you want to be indebted to Master Thaldi, boy?" said Valdi, "I'd rather face any witch creation than whatever deal the man brings to a table."

"Oh, I think I have what he wants." said Jozin, "I've thought about it, don't worry." he added when Valdi gave him a skeptical look. 

The heads of the merchant guilds, if they were the scheming types, would have liked to be in Surio's favor. Some of them had even given Surio gifts months before, the one he'd been the most proudest of was a banner with a sable curled around a silver bow. Jozin didn't have the heart to burn it in the funeral pyre, and it was currently being carried in one of the archers' packs. Being old and infirmed wouldn't have stopped Master Thaldi from his mental capability, and the old goat would have already known of Surio's death. He'll jump with joy, if he could, to have a say in who the next lord of Skapina would be. As for Jozin, he found himself quite emotionless on the issue altogether, his father had said it back in the camps, anyone of the seven would do. 

"Better not be anything foolish." said Valdi, pausing expectantly. 

"It's not," said Jozin, and rolled his eyes at the look that Valdi gave him, "I'm going offer him the choice of which one of the seven he'd like to be lord."

"What?" said Rana, abruptly, "No!"

"Are you sure, m'lord?" said Preta, "That you would like what he says?"

"He'll pick the one that wouldn't bother him and his trade." said Jozin, "Which would be the most disinterested among the seven, I'd pick the same in any case."

"I see." said Valdi, disapproval in his voice.

They trudged for awhile in silence, until the outline of the Dragon Paw could be seen in the distance. There were many twisted gnarly trees surrounding the mountain, and as they approached a specific tree, the one, Jozin remembered, with Master Thaldi's family crest on its trunk, he approached it and knocked three times. 

"What can Master Thaldi do for Lord Jozin?" came a voice from the tree.

Of course Master Thaldi would know of their coming. 

"I would appreciate a passage through the Dragon Paw." said Jozin, "If Master Thaldi is willing."

"A price for a passage." replied the voice. 

One of the archers curses, most likely Remil. 

"I would discuss it with Master Thaldi myself, if it pleases him." said Jozin, "He has my word." he hesitated, "The word of Lady Skapina."

The last two words had the desired effect. There was a slow screech, the sound of metal on metal, as the side of Dragon Paw mountain slowly opened to reveal a tunnel. Several of the archers, unfamiliar with Master Thaldi's mountain pass, jumped. 

"What witch did he pay to do that?" muttered Preta suspiciously, hand on his bow. 

"Knowing Master Thaldi?" said Jozin, "None." 

  
  



	9. Jozin

The boy that greeted them was barely taller than the spear he held in his hand, and from the slightly high pitch voice as he greeted them, was probably the voice from the tree that addressed him. He gave Jozin a perfunctory bow, his eyes flicking briefly to Jozin's middle before settling to a fixed point on the ground, fumbling at his sleeves. The uniform jacket that all of Master Thaldi's guards wore was slipping off his shoulders, the matching trousers hastily hemmed to his height. Was Master Thaldi, Goddess forbid, now poor? 

"Master Thaldi would like to speak to you, Lady Skapina, at your earliest convenience." said the boy. 

"I see," said Jozin, he paused, the new title heavy on his mind, "what is your name?" he said in softer tones. 

"Stili." said the boy, "Stilli Afenson."

"Here," said Jozin, digging into pouch and pulling out a five copper coins, "Ask one of the seamstresses to shorten the sleeves, and keep the rest for yourself." he gave Stilli what he hoped resembled a smile, "Tell Master Thaldi I asked him to send Stilli to fetch me, I'll have the Chamberlain let you in."

"I will, thank you, Lady Skapina." said the boy, giving him a gap tooth smile, "Would you like an escort to your manor?"

"I've traveled this way before." said Jozin, "Run home to your family, it's late enough."

Stilli made to tip his cap, then changed his mind and made a clumsy bow. He motioned for them to take one of the torches on the wall and skipped off, his own torch bobbing in the dimly lit tunnel.

When the boy had left them for some distance, Jozin heard whispers break out from the archers. 

"Did Afen go off with us?" said Dremuk, "The man'll rather cut out his liver than have his son working under Master Thaldi."

"Most of the men's gone off," said Remil, "Might be a difficult spring for the merchants if they're sitting on empty workbenches."

"Means a bigger winter solstice with the witches." said Gunnla, "We'll have feasts for days."

"Not if the merchants aren't happy." said Preta glumly, he nods in Jozin's direction, "It might be better to pacify Master Thaldi after all, m'lord-" he caught himself, adding, "Lady Skapina."

He stops himself from reacting to the new address. He was Lady Skapina now, wasn't he? It was time he accepts his new role. 

The underground system that Master Thaldi had built, as they approached Skapina was reminiscent to that of a narrow alley street. Jozin half expected to meet people hawking their wares in hastily constructed store fronts. The closer they walked to Skapina, the more lanterns were lit, the path itself was no longer packed dirt but cobbled stones, a slow civilization of the underground.

"We're back." said Gunnla, relieved, when they could see the end of the tunnel. 

Skapina was on top of a mountain, that was known. What was not common knowledge was the sprawling life underneath the stone fortress above. It sprung out due in part to the discovery of the  _ purple glimmer _ , a mushroom that, as its name suggests, glimmers and has a purplish tint to it. There was no use for purple glimmers in Skapina itself, but the witches began flocking to Skapina to buy it every winter. After awhile, most of them decide to stay in the mountains and woods around Skapina. They paid the merchants in raw precious stones which more than enough to satisfy the guilds that sprung up to process said material. 

So there was a thriving fungiculture under Skapina, which in turn lead to excavation to grow more of them, and somewhere along the lines, someone figured out how to light the underground. That was the turning point which lead to houses being built underneath Skapina's foundations, and it has been that way ever since Jozin was born. It was easy enough to tell where they were headed now, and Jozin let his mind wander as they walked through familiar roads, houses and market stalls. 

"You are a true Skapinian." Surio had told him once, at Jozin's curious look, continued, "You know, everyone visiting sees cold unforgiving stone, but you're quite welcoming underneath all that stone."

That earned him an apple tossed unceremoniously at his head, Jozin sliding off the barrel he'd been sitting on to run off on another impromptu game of chase with Surio. It wasn't just him and Surio back in those days, Milla was there too, the three of them racing through the underground streets of Skapina. He couldn't quit remember which one of the did it, but the basket had come tumbling from the witch's hands, spilling the purple glimmers on the ground. 

"Sorry miss!" Jozin had rushed to apologize, trying to gather the mushrooms into her basket. Surio and Milla were quick to follow his example, no child wanted to anger a witch.

"Well, aren't thou a kind soul." said the witch, adjusting her her hat. She spoke in a strangely accented tongue, her almond shaped eyes and jet black hair standing out among the witches he'd seen in Skapina. 

Her robes, to Jozin's eyes, looked like a patchwork of different materials, all stitched together in a glowing script. It was probably why she was underground, if she'd been outside she'll probably freeze. 

"We're sorry." said Jozin with Surio and Milla echoing him, "We didn't mean to drop your mushrooms."

The witch stared at them, then gave a soft laugh, "T's not ev'ry day one sees Mistress Skapina, and a polite one too." she smiled, showing black teeth, "Wouldst thou and thy cater-cousins liketh thy f'rtunes toldeth?"

At the time he thought she'd meant to say Lady Skapina's son, but shrugged it off, more fascinated by the witch's smile. Jozin turned to look at Surio who nodded eagerly.

"Yes please," said Milla, breathlessly, starry-eyed. 

"Cometh this way," said the witch, leading them to an alley that was designated for the witches whenever they visited. 

It smelled strange the witches' alley, oddly colored smoke would sometimes drift from the alley, and odd shrieks and chitters would be heard from time to time. The tents and caravans from what they could see of the alleyway looked strange and menacing. The three of them hesitated at the entrance, and the witch realizing this, smiled, "W'rry not, thou wonneth't stepeth in far." 

She motioned them towards a tent only three steps from the alley, and pulling up the flap, disappeared in it. 

"I'm going to go." Surio said, determined, following her. 

Milla grabbed his hand and squeezed it, "Come on, Jozin, I want to hear my for-tune!"

Inside the witch's tent was an assortment of plants, weapons and a handful of cages holding strange animals. One Jozin thinks is a snake, though he'd never seen one with such colorful scales. 

"Come, come." said the witch, motioning them to sit on three cushions in the tent. 

She took up a seat opposite of them, looking at them expectantly. 

"Well, shouldst the eldest wend first?" she said. 

"I am." said Surio. 

"I seeth." said the witch turning her eyes on him, "Thou wilt excuse me f'r not giving a f'rtune which rhymes. I wast toldeth by mine own sist'rs h're people liketh f'rtune which rhymeth, but I wilt confesseth I am not fluent in this tongue to doth so." 

The witch pauses, closing her eyes, and humming. Her palms were outstretched, and she made a series of signs in front of Surio's face. When her eyes opened, they were no longer brown, but a very pale blue. 

"One questioneth thou may asketh of me, and one questioneth I shall answ'r." she said. 

Surio nodded, gulping visibly, "Would I be a great warrior?" he said.

"A most wondrous arch'r thou shall beest, nay targeteth thou shall misseth, yet thy hair shall nev'r grizzled, and thy boweth nev'r breaketh."

The witch turned to Milla, "And what of thee sweet daught'r? What wouldst thou asketh?"

Milla looked troubled, but smiled bravely and asked, "Would I live in a big house when I grow up?"

"A most wondrous house thou shall beest, and through glass stairs thou shall walketh to receiveth th're." said the witch. 

The pale blue eyes turned to him then, "What of thou then? what would thou asketh?"

What did he want to ask of a witch? There was always a catch to a witch's fortune, every child knows, which was why both Milla and Surio didn't ask for more details than necessary. Though the fortune, as simple as they'd asked, had answers with both joy and sorrow. He bit his lip. 

"Would you care to dine in my halls?" he asked. 

At this question, the witch blinked. Her eyes, which pale blue suddenly switched to its dark brown. She stared at him for a long moment, then shakes her head in what Jozin thinks is bemusement. 

"Well " the witch said, "Well, I would bethink thou art too young to beest a host." a pause, "may I taketh up thy invitation another evening? Thou would knoweth me," the witch leaned forwards, brushing her lips against his ear, "Mine own sisters calleth me Hana." 

Hana smiled, sitting back in her cushion, "T'wast a pleasure meeting thee."

A great mist circled them, and when Jozin opened his eyes, he was seated on the barrel as before, Milla next to him and Surio leaning on the brick wall. 

"That was very odd." said Surio, "Witches. I never understood them."

The three of them never mentioned the fortune telling after that, now thinking back on the day, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Of course Surio had become a great archer, he would've easily replaced Valdi, if not for his inexperience in the battlefield. As for Milla… she did write to him, saying that she was now the wife of the head merchant in Camaira. Hana never came to the manor door in all these years, it was likely she never would come. Witches live different lives than ordinary folk afterall, maybe it was so that years for them would be just days to her. 

"M'lord?" Rana said, gently touching his shoulder, shaking him out of his thoughts, "M'lord, we're home now. What would you have us do?"

"Oh." said Jozin, realizing they'd arrived at the entrance to the manor, "Well." he turned to the archers, "Why don't you return to your homes and rooms? I'll send for you the morning." he hesitated, "Can I talk to you Preta?" 

There were visible sighs of relief and happiness as they left, Valdi at the head. Jozin wondered if they followed him more to leave the war than loyalty. Certainly he wouldn't blame them if it was the former. At his pointed look, Gennla and Rana backed away, giving them some privacy. 

"What is it, Lady Skapina?" said Preta.

Jozin breathed in deeply, "I'd like you to call me Jozin." he said, "If possible. We were never close as children, but, any friend of Surio is a friend to me."

"Of course, Lady- Jozin." said Preta, he looked expectantly at Jozin, "What is it?"

"I want... " he swallowed, "I want you to bring me his… his things. The banner too. Please."

"Oh." said Preta, "Oh, I… I'll have it done. Should I bring it to your rooms, Jozin?"

Jozin nodded tightly, "Please."

"Of course. Consider it done, Lady Skapina." he gave a short bow, "Is that all?"

"Yes." said Jozin, "Thank you."

The blond smiled, bowed again and turned to walk away. From behind he looked and dressed very much like Surio, and the deep selfish part of Jozin wishes that it was so. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have a tumblr, [Rosriel Writes](https://rosrielwrites.tumblr.com/) for shiny things related to this fic.


	10. Nikolas

The Tales of Armenia was an extremely dull book. At least it was transcribed in a script Nikolas was able to read. He thinks he would have tossed the book into the fire by now if it was written in the aristocratic noble hand that undoubtedly belonged to Dame Armenia. She would sound like one of those types of lady merchants that came into his father's house, the one with the breathy voices and an accompanying yappy lapdog. Though perhaps it wasn't true, because, as the introduction to the book helpfully pointed out, Dame Armenia was not born into a noble house, but a poor merchant one. She'd married her way up, and was, as the scribe wrote in the introduction, a pious woman, worthy of the Goddess's blessing. Perhaps the Goddess's blessing also gave Dame Armenia a minor head injury, if _Darling angel dearest_ was what she chose to addressed every single one of her precise diary entries. It spanned from the time she was married, to the presumably, date of her death. Even the more aristocratic of his siblings, Lianne didn't deem it worthy to talk about every single piece of clothing she wore to a party, or what every one else wore there. He wiped at his eyes, swallowing a yawn for the tenth time that night, and continued reading. 

_Summer, year 918 under the Goddess_

_Darling angel dearest,_

_Today I was so kindly invited to a beautiful party by the Gannt House. How lovely! The lady of the house wore her finest ivory dress, with beautiful pearls from Allini. Such a shame her father did not take such great care in his dress. Red is a terrible color on Lord Manten. Not fitting, not fitting at all. Perhaps it would be better that his son take his place. I saw the lad darting in and out, but 'tis a shame he is too young. The Lady had hung ivy, rather brown, round the mantelpiece, and they served a dish of quince to the guests, a bit undercooked, I'd say. The Lady talked at length about how-_

The diary continued for a while after that detailing a dry and uninspiring conversation about the cultivation of pink cosmos and Nikolas nearly caught his head from thudding on the table. Must Dame Armenia describe every single color, and every single flower in excruciatingly detail? 

Wait. 

He flipped to the previous entry he read, and it was written in almost the same way. The Dame would first write about several people, the color and make of their clothes, with specific details on where an item of finery was obtained, followed by a flower displayed somewhere in the room. Then she would make her, usually disparaging, comments on their clothing choices and hospitality. She was a chess player with a very specific set of opening moves. Nikolas glanced at the entry again. Allini. Allini. Where had he heard that name before? 

Then it dawned on him. It was one of the first entries that Elis had helped him read out, stumbling over every word in the History of Icfeld. The skirmish of Allini, where the Lord Manten took to arms against the neighboring lord, and was felled in battle. There was no mention of Lord Manten's daughter. Dame Armenia's diary, however, did.

He stared at the entry again. Ivy on the mantelpiece, an ivory dress with pearls on Lord Manten's daughter. Ivory was a white color wasn't it? A white gown and ivy... It sounded like a nursery rhyme. He could taste it his tongue. He hesitated, tapping his fingers on the table to the tune, almost hearing the ghostly voices of his younger sisters as they played skip-rope outside the family house. 

A sprig of ivy, 

And a white gown, 

Of all the maidens I'd loved, 

It is you I'd crown

He was technically wrong, it was a tune sang at weddings, not a nursery rhyme. He remembered it so only because they sang it so often. The cosmos that Dame Camaira talked at length about, that was definitely a nursery rhyme. It was Felie's favorite, and she'll end the tune by banging loudly on the closest wooden surface. 

One cosmo, two cosmos

Three, and four

Yellow flowers, pink flowers

It's my darling knocking at the door

Two songs, both referring to a proposition of marriage. He frowned, remembering the passage he'd read on Allini. The Lord Manten had gone into battle because he wanted more land under his rule, what was written in that book. From his scant understanding of noble inheritance laws, there was also the possibility of marrying a woman to a noble family and then having her inherit, instead of her husband, if her father's station was higher than that of the noble she married to. Or something along those lines. It wasn't a very popular law. Was Dame Camaira proposing that Lord Manten's war would have been prevented by a marriage? 

He scanned the diary, this time looking at the patterns that sprung up like flowers that the Dame loved to write about. It wasn't a traditional diary, he realized, going from one season to another in succession. No, it was apparent that Dame Camaira had pre-divided her diary from the very start, as one summer year would then follow another summer year, and one would have to read to the very last summer of the Dame's life before coming across the fall of her first marriage, where the whole thing started. A peculiar quirk of the aristocracy, a casual reader may think, but, this was a puzzle, and if there was one thing Nikolas loved more, it was to solve one. He grabbed the ink and quill next to him, noting down the place, year, colors, dress and food served each season of each diary entry. 

Several hours later, it dawned on him. 

It was guidebook on marriages. The first season, summer, was Dame Camaira's guide on how to arrange a marriage to avoid a disaster, or perhaps political marriages in general. Nikolas thinks she could've just written on how to get married but, he suspects that the Dame truly loved detailing a spectacle. The season that followed, fall, was how to be happy in a marriage. It was very brief, compared to the summer section. Nikolas half wondered if this was due to inexperience. The winter was for ending a marriage, again, as thick as the summer section. It was ended at spring, and, as Nikolas predicted detailed how to rekindle a marriage. There were numerous drawings, several of which made him flush red.

_To the winter chapters I go then_ , thought Nikolas pleased. 

His happiness was short-lived. The winter chapters gave him, if possible a worst headache. Dame Camaira didn't write about flowers at all, instead she waxed poetic on the various feasts she attended and all the dishes served there. Roast boar was cold breakfast porridge compared to what Dame Camaira experience. Giblets in beef broth with all possible combinations of exotic spices; cloves, cinnamon and saffron, serve with bread for Lord Jaufre and his wife. A clothed swan, served with yellow peppers in its white feathered finery for Lord Gauce's birthday party. Baked hedgehog served with chestnuts, courtesy of Lady Haine for her mother. Porpoise pottage with salmon, capers and possibly the entire ocean at an engagement party for the Lady Berge by her father. If the combinations didn't sound so odd and pretentious, he thinks his stomach would have grumbled appreciatively. 

She must be referring to heraldry, Nikolas thinks, every noble house has some animal they're fond of. He wasn't quite sure how roasting, boiling and stuffing them were meant to be translated. 

He glanced at his notes, looking at the names, dish and occasions. Certainly it was different from the summer entries. Here, Dame Camaira didn't seem to focus on the clothing of the individuals, so much as what they were celebrating and what they'd been served. Nikolas scowls at the pages. What does one even serve to dissolve a marriage? 

_Maybe you're too dull to understand the complexities of -_

Alchelm's voice echoed in his head. Nikolas bit down a reflexive curse. No, he wasn't dull, and he'll prove it. 

He took a deep breath, looking at his notes again with the three columns. Maybe, he had approached the problem the wrong way. Heraldry scholar he was not, so instead of noting the dishes being served, he should turn his eye on the names and their relationships. Husband and wife, mother and daughter, father and son, father and daughter…. the Dame Camaira had made every relation clear. Out of every possible combination, who would be more likely to play a hand in arranging a marriage, and who would be most likely to contest the decision? 

He smiled triumphantly, narrowing down the entries he'd summarized with father and daughter written next to it. Most of the Lord's names he did not recognize, but one peaked his interest. 

Lord Daire and his daughter Labill. 

The history book he'd read with Elis said that the Lord and Lady Daire had gained a significant amount of land, in a bloodless exchange. The historian had noted that it was interesting, simply because Lady Daire did not have the armies or the talent to fight the war. The Daire family served as chancellors to the Queen to this day, revelling to anyone who would hear of their fertile lands and abundant fields. He noted that the historian again, did not mention much of Lady Labill, only that she dedicated her life to the Goddess. 

What a fascinating coincidence. 

He flipped to the winter entry, reading it again with a more critical eye. 

_Winter, year 925 under the Goddess_

_Darling angel dearest,_

_It was a magnificent banquet I was invited to by Lady Labill, for her father on the occasion of her impending marriage. It was a positively sumptuous feast, I must admit, the Daire House knows how to host the most…._

It continued for awhile, describing the various guests that came, until Nikolas reached the dining portion of the entry

_Lady Labill served her parents a fake Griffin, on a bed of bluebells and gold leaf. I was told that the Griffin's body was a pig, and the head was of one truly astonishingly big rooster. The bluebells were not to be eaten, we were told, and the Lord Daire laughed loud at this display. He ordered everyone to drink their fill of the sweet wine. Truly a splendid outing._

Strange indeed. One can never tell a lie in front of a real griffin, that was the stories told by travelers who had the fortune to meet one. And the bluebells... the competing house to the Daire, now extinct, had bluebells on their shields. He would know, the current Daires residing in the castle would send bluebells as part of a humiliating missile to any would be competitor. Lady Laberts herself had been given one or two in the time Nikolas was there. 

Gold leaves though, that was an odd one. Gold leaves was only truly used by the royal family, to grant land and title to-

_See, I'm not dull after all._

The Lady Labill had given her father a fake royal decree to take over the lands of the bluebells, whatever their name was at the time. Though, it didn't need to be a royal decree, seeing as how the nobles behaved in the courts, sometimes all it takes is a greased purse and quills will start flying on whatever document one wanted signed. 

Lord Laberts truly didn't need to marry of Elis, he just wanted that particular set of lands owned by Lord Folques. Good lands, Nikolas knew from his geography lessons at the castle. It was one of the chokepoints into Icfeld, and if the Lord Folques was wise, he would have built a toll booth at its entrance. It was a shame that Lord Folques only ever knew that his lands was important and not why. 

_You've done me a favor, Elis, I'll do you one back._

When he bought up his plan to Elis the next day, the younger man gave him a deeply skeptical look, flipping through his notes. 

"I don't know if this would work." said Elis, "Fabricating a claim on Folques land? Wouldn't my mother have tried this before?"

The younger man had raised an eyebrow at the series of notes Nikolas had given him, scanning them with a critical eye, all the while pointing out all the _atrocious_ spelling mistakes. 

"Begging your pardon, Master Elis, but from my experience of your mother, she never cared much for diplomacy." said Nikolas, "And I don't think she pays her chancellor enough for the man to use his brains."

"I see." said Elis, "So what now, we wait for my mother to show up and spring this on her? She doesn't like surprises."

"She likes gold and silver well enough," said Nikolas, "she'll listen."

If there was anything Nikolas learned from Alchelm, was that certain hearts can be easily swayed with money.

"May I ask-" Elis paused, "Why you are doing this? She won't reward you any more than she has."

"You were patient enough to teach me Master Elis, is that not enough?" Nikolas said gently, "I won't deny I want the position your father will give me. But I won't trample on others to get there."

"I see." Elis shakes his head, "You won't last a day in the court then, if that's how you see things."

"I think I've been lucky so far." said Nikolas.

"Good men don't last long in the Queen's court." said Elis, "Everyone knows that."

"Shouldn't good men at least try then?" said Nikolas, conversationally. 

Elis laughed, "I didn't expect you to help me." he looked contemplative, "Now I really don't know what I would do. I did have plans to flee the wedding-" The younger man paused, "by any means necessary. If mother approves of this idea…" he paused, "I won't _ever_ be a Lady."

"From what I've seen, Lady Laberts would rather keep her wealth in the family. Tell her you'd like to learn how to manage her lands, as a steward. Or replace the chancellor. That would work."

"You seem to know quite a bit of this." said Elis wryly.

"Negotiation is something my father taught me and my siblings well." said Nikolas.

"How many siblings do you even have?" exclaimed Elis, "There was one that pledged to the Church, and your two younger sisters..." he trails off, looking uncomfortable. 

"I've not had good relations with most of them." said Nikolas, "My father's always had us trampling over each other to get his attention. They've always been better than me."

"But you're a good guard, aren't you, even though you are without a doubt, the worst guard my mother had ever hired." said Elis, holding back a smile. 

"We'll see." said Nikolas. 

He swallowed his unease. It was a good plan wasn't it, appealing to the baser instinct of Lady Laberts? He wouldn't like to think what would happen if it didn't work. _I did have plans to flee the wedding by any means necessary_ , Elis had said, _I won't be a lady_. It had to work. 

When he found himself troubled, Nikolas find himself playing chess. When he was younger game was hilariously one-sided, as obviously whichever side he started off with he would win, but as he grew older it became a way of explaining his thoughts to an invisible player. Not outloud, that would be ridiculous, it was more angry moves on the chessboard and rapid taking of various pieces. He thinks his friendship with Elis only deepened so much because Lady Laberts didn't care to stock this particular castle with a chessboard. Otherwise Nikolas thinks he would have been perfectly content sitting outside Elis's door with a board, in the months of his duty to Lord Laberts. He couldn't sleep that night, or the nights after, until a letter came from Lady Laberts announcing his impending arrival. 

For the first time since he had known Lady Laberts, the woman stared at them with an open bafflement. 

"Why haven't you packed?" she demanded, staring around the room, as if hoping the trunks would spontaneously appear.

"I-" said Elis.

"You?" Lady Laberts interrupted. 

"Lady Laberts," said Nikolas, "Please, may I have my say?"

He didn't wait for Lady Laberts to interrupt, moving between father and son. 

"Master Elis informed me that you have agreed to a marriage with Lord Folques. When I came to the barracks, they asked me what I knew, and, I said that I came from a merchanting family. My father took an interest in land deeds and ownership one year and-" the lie flew easily from his lips, and now, as Alchelm would say, one must add the honey, "There is a possibility for a better reward than a marriage that can potentially be annulled. As your loyal guard, I believe you would like to know of this possibility before taking action. A great military leader such as yourself, my lady, must always know of all possibilities." 

He knew he had the Lady's attention at _a great military leader such as yourself_ . It could have even been earlier at _better reward_ , if her widening eyes were interpreted as interest and not rage. 

"Did you put him up to this?" demanded Lady Laberts, glaring at Elis, who shakes his head in a frantic no. "Fine. But be quick about it. If it is worthless babble it will stay worthless babble."

"It is possible for you to seize the Lord and Lady Folques' lands, for the Queen's use in protection of our borders. Their lands lay on checkpoints that, as reports shown, have not been adequately maintained. They have neglected his duty, and it is possible to strip them of his titles, my lady, if you could find someone willing to sign the proper paperwork."

Lady Laberts stared at him, then laughed uproariously, "I see, I see. A diplomatic approach. Clean. Bloodless. I can appreciate that." he reached over to give him a firm clap on the shoulder. "Why didn't you ever become a diplomat, my lad?"

"The sons of merchants rarely become diplomats my lord." said Nikolas. 

"Yet here you are, ha! You're not just a common soldier are you, lad." said Lady Laberts, wiping the sweat from her face, "I suppose I'll have to figure out what to do with you." 

The latter comment was directed at Elis, who gave Nikolas a tentative inquiring look. Nikolas nodded, and the younger man spoke up. 

"Perhaps you can replace your steward with me. I know these lands well and how to manage them. You won't have to pay me."

"Replace Gervais?" said Lady Laberts, "Impossible… however, I can be rid of that useless chancellor. Twenty years taking my coin and drinking it away and the idiot never thought to fabricate a claim? The nerve of him." The lady looked contemplative, and points a finger at Elis, "You won't be safe as an unmarried carrier in the Capital. Drooling mongrels the whole lot of them..." Lady Laberts wiped at his brow again, then looked at Nikolas, "How willing are you to deliver my correspondence to Elis, if, theoretically, I replace the chancellor?"

"Very willing my lord." said Nikolas, a little too quickly, and Lady Laberts laughed again.

"You keep this up and maybe I would be your mother in law." said the older woman. 

"Apologies my lord, but I am not quite made out for marriage." said Nikolas. 

He thinks Elis wouldn't hesitate to stab him, if he were to agree.

"Oh ho," said Lady Laberts, "Got a sweetheart then, do you? I see why you've never had quite the disgusting habits of the other trainees. Very honorable. I think you'd do well, my lad." the older woman frowned thoughtfully, "I suppose if you're not after my son, you'd like an additional reward? Is there any boon you'd like?"

Nikolas gave it a moment's consideration, then said, "Would you care to part with your copy of the Tales of Armenia?"

"Planning to read it for courting tips?" said Lady Laberts, looking amused, "Why not? Tell Gervais to cut it from the shelf."

Lady Laberts was wrong on the Tales of Armenia, though almost right on the sweetheart comment. Ennadda wasn't his sweetheart, living in Harlot's Chase as a translator and letter writer as her trade. She was a friend, and would undoubtedly give him an earful as he had completely forgotten to tell her the news of his post with Lady Laberts months ago. He hoped she would forgive him, after all, how does one even address or send a letter to an Ennadda at Harlot's End without getting the Church's silken undergarments twisted into priestly knots? 

  
Had Lady Laberts not been there, Elis would undoubtedly showered him with questions about the mystery person, but the younger man put on an facade of utmost demureness as he shouldered the traveler's pack and nodded gratefully at the horse offered to him. It only broke temporarily when the Lady Laberts clambered into her coach and most of the accompanying soldiers' backs were turned.

  
"Thank you." said Elis, "I-" he lapsed into silence. For the first time Elis looked lost for words.

"I'll be seeing you again soon, if all goes well." said Nikolas, winking, "You can tell me then."

He hoped that the present of the Tales of Armenia, along with his sincere apologies would be enough for her forgiveness.


	11. Nikolas

Nikolas met Ennadda when Ardich and the rest of the recruits cajoled him into going with them on a tour of the city. The tour mostly consisting of flipping a coin to decide whether or not they should enter the tavern, and then continuing thusly around the various taverns in the city. It ended, predictably, at Harlot's End, where his friends found that all manner of their clothing needed the attention of seamstresses. The offending articles were removed in swift order and the skilled hands of a selected seamstress was put to use. All of this was done in a boisterous manner by the soldiers, only being outdone by the amused giggles of the seamstresses. The more prudish part of wanted to bolt for the door, but the more responsible part of him knew that if one of them was late to roll call the next day, everyone's pay was deducted for the week. So he picked the corner that wasn't filled with a seamstress and a drunken trainee and attempted to meld into the furniture itself. It was quite a hard task, as the table in front of him had a chessboard with an incomplete game and the chair itself was wooden and rickety. 

He was shortly sharply tapped on the soldier by a woman, "You're in my corner sir, please get out." she said sternly in an accented voice. 

She was different from the other seamstresses, in the room full of light haired and fair complexions, she stood out as the only person whose skin was darker than the bolts of pale linen that was displayed in the windows. Her hair was pulled out of her face and hidden under a colorful headscarf, and Nikolas recognized the rich red-and-gold floral patterns of the scarf as belonging to Camaira. If he was right, she had traveled quite far from home

"Sorry." said Nikolas, "I didn't know it was occupied."

"Well it is." was the sharp reply, and the woman sat herself down on the recently vacated spot, pulling out a thin book and a stick of charcoal from the pockets of her dress. The chess pieces were carefully placed to the side before she placed the book on top of the board. She opened it, scanned the room, mumbled under her breath and began writing. From the looks of it, she was taking down notes of each interaction, using the same notation that his father would use. 

When Nikolas didn't leave, she looked up, giving him an irritable look. 

"Don't you have something else to do?"

"No?" said Nikolas, "Well, yes, but someone has to keep an eye on my friends. We have to be ready for roll call tomorrow."

"Drew the short straw tonight huh?" said the woman, "What a shame."

The latter sentence was dripping with sarcasm. 

"I'm plenty capable of mending shirts myself." said Nikolas, he hesitated, holding out a hand to her, "I'm Nikolas." 

She blinks at the hand offered to her. "Ennadda." she clears her throat, "I'm called Ennadda."

"Ennadda." Nikolas repeats, "Is that Camairan name?"

Ennadda huffed, "I see a man who tends to his own shirts knows a thing or two about the world."

"Not much." said Nikolas, "I've only ever seen a handful of Camairan merchants. They don't travel to Icfeld much. I had an orange from them once. It was nice."

"Oranges never do well in a country with ice in its name." said Ennadda, looking over the door that swung open to let in another drunken soldier, and writing something down surreptitiously in her book. 

"You're quite a proficient writer there, are you a mistress of the needle or the quill?"

She closed the book, giving him an irritated look. "Why would you like to know, young master tailor?"

"I mean no offense," said Nikolas, "It's been a long time since I met someone who could write."

"I see." said Ennadda, sounding less hostile, "Is that what you were looking for, a scribe?"

"I would like to send a letter to my sister, yes." said Nikolas, "If you're offering."

"My services aren't free." said Ennadda, looking him up and down, "I doubt you can afford a very long letter."

"Well," Nikolas indicated the chess set and pieces that she had set to the side, "Do you play? I've no talent at writing or earning coin, but I can play a decent game. If I give you a good game, perhaps you might be willing to lower the price."

"Hmm." said Ennadda, "You don't write, yet you play chess. Sure." she shrugged, "I suppose I haven't-" she stood up to yell out at a younger woman mending shirts at the door, "Close the door Willa, we're done taking new customers for the night!" under her breath Ennadda added, "Bless her, she still doesn't seem to understand most women here aren't actual seamstresses."

When the door was swung shut by Willa, Ennadda sat back down, indicating to the board. "Well, then, Nikolas, white or black?"

That chess game turned from a single evening's event into a recurring engagement in Nikolas's calendar. Ennadda won the first game, sure, but she clearly wasn't familiar with the different movesets of Icfeld and its surrounding areas. She was quick to pick up on his tactics, however, and for every win of his he would lose twice to her. 

"You shouldn't rely so much on your Queen." she commented, after one of his defeats, "She's powerful, but she's only one piece, the newly crowned queens usually don't last very long." 

"Well then, how would I go about it?" he said, irritably, staring at the checkmate she'd given him. 

"See here," she pointed, "You should've used a bishop."

"Why are you so good at this anyway?" said Nikolas, "I tried every move I learned."

"It's not just a matter of movesets." said Ennadda, "It's a matter of understanding what your opponent would do. Movesets are like a tongue, and once you understand the tongue it's quite easy to make out how the game would go."

"You're one to speak, you speak and write all the tongues." said Nikolas.

Ennadda blinked, then laughed softly, "Not all of them." she said, "I don't speak Skapinian. It's quite an oddball tongue. It sounds like dragon speech. Well, what dragons would sound like if they were human." she added, when he looked confused. 

"Really?" said Nikolas. 

"Yes, really." said Ennadda, "Met a trader from Skapina once. He spoke that tongue to his boys while I waited for him to unload the wagon. I thought he was having a stroke at first."

Ennadda rarely spoke of her life before she came to the Capital. Nikolas gathered that she must have been born in Camaira, then somehow found herself in Harlot's End. The woman had claimed that she lived there mainly because rent was cheap and the matron of the seamstresses was willing to cut that amount further for Ennadda's services in recording the various guests that came to the shop. 

"If they don't pay, matron used to have them beat over the head." said Ennadda, "The Church frowns upon that, so the beatings are now done where they don't show."

There was one thing clear about Ennadda, she was not too fond of the Icfeld Church. Several evenings and many chess games later, she'd lowered her guard, to tell him that, "I thought you were one of the priests they sent to these places every so often. They could send priestesses too," here she paused, smiling, "but they stand out."

"Do I look like a priest?" said Nikolas. 

"You took the name of one." said Ennadda, "Or am I wrong?" 

"Nikolas is a very popular name with the priests, I will admit." said Nikolas, "But my mother was reading one of the Icfeld epics and she was inspired."

"I've never heard of it." said Ennadda, "It is my experience that Icfelders hold strange customs. I never quite understood it."

"What do you mean?" said Nikolas.

"Giving a child a famous is frowned upon where I come from. Your Church teaching is another. I was taught as a child that the Teachings of the Goddess are simply stories meant as a guidance. And every storyteller tells the story through his or her eyes. We in Camaira do not take the Teachings as divine truths. It would be-" she hesitated, "blasphemous to do so. One is supposed to come to an understanding, not be told of it."

"I see." said Nikolas, "I… have never thought about it. I suppose…" he trails off, "I suppose it would have bought my mother solace, had she been taught such. I don't think anyone can convince her now."

"Your mother?" said Ennadda, "Please excuse me, I do not quite remember what you mentioned of her."

"She never was herself again after my siblings' passing." said Nikolas, "She believed she was punished."

"Oh." said Ennadda, adding softly, "I am so very sorry for her. I cannot imagine thinking it so. Sometimes the Reaper comes and there is nothing one can do about it. Not even prayers to the Goddess."

"I know." said Nikolas, "I prayed for my sisters then, and there was no answer."

After that conversation, Ennadda seemed much more willing to talk to him in bits and pieces, about her life. Perhaps she felt guilty, or perhaps she understood his shared reluctance in embracing the Icfeld faith.

"The priests and nuns have given an impossible task for women." she said, while they played another chess game, "Be a perfect mother and wife, they say. There can only be so many things one can do in a day." she shook her head, "Most of them aren't even married when they preach these things to the masses."

"You think it's unjust?" said Nikolas, thinking of the gossipers and his mother. 

"Why would it be just?" said Ennadda, "A woman has such and such place to be and such and such role to play. There is no room for, as one say, the black sheep. And there are such many black sheep, I would know, they all live here." she gestured at the room, and looking contemplative, added, "I always wondered why the priests never address the high number of carriers in their ranks. I suppose they find it embarrassing, that if given a choice, carriers wish to live as men, and not as beloved wives and mothers." she paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully, "Though the carriers in their ranks are from the nobility. I do not know what becomes of a commoner who is a carrier. I assume they'll live as a man." seeing Nikolas about to open his mouth, she continued, "There is a reason why the city's temple of the Goddess is paid a visit by every expectant parent. I've heard some preach childbirth as nothing to fear, but the number of visitors to the temple says otherwise. Noble women, in particular are usually expected to be blessed every year or two, and there are busybodies that go around checking if certain potions are sold to avoid said blessing. I have heard that the Reaper pays a visit more often when the child's mother is a carrier. In these circumstances, is it not a survival instinct to avoid such a fate?"

"I never thought of it that way." said Nikolas.

"It's not a fault of yours." said Ennadda, moving her knight, "You would never find yourself facing the Reaper during childbirth, nor discouraging a husband from frequent visits to your bed that lead to such events." she gave him a sad smile, "Being a seamstress certainly is no work I would do, but I can see why women chose to do it. It's control."

"And control is what the Church does." said Nikolas, with dawning understanding. 

"Yes, and checkmate." said Ennadda, moving to take his king.

Ennadda, as expected, did not look pleased when she saw him in her rented room. She sighed deeply walking over to the wooden bureau and pouring herself a drink, not offering him a cup of mint or black tea as she usually did. Ennadda seemed to be perpetually stocked with wine, and not the cheaply made bottles either.

"It must be nice," the woman said icily, sipping from a pewter cup, "to just waltz in and out without so much as a by your leave."

  
"I'm sorry." Nikolas said, "Lady Laberts didn't give me that much time to decide. And there was no way I could-"

She gave him a disgruntled look, "I had to pry that information from your friend Ardich. You'd think I was trying to pull a tooth."

"Sorry." said Nikolas, again, "If I could send you a letter I would." he grinned, "Did you know, I managed to write a decent one to my sister?"

"Incredible." said Ennadda drily, gesturing for him to sit himself on the rickety chair in a corner, and flopping down on the protesting springs of her bed opposite him, "And which prayers did you say to be so blessed?"

"Nothing much. Just found a good teacher." said Nikolas, "I'll never be a scholar, but I'm a decent reader, here, I want to show you this."

He pulls out the Tales of Armenia from his bag, and handing it to her. Ennadda gave the book a critical look, flipping open the pages, "How in heavens did you come across such a rare edition?”

“Rare?” said Nikolas, “What do you mean?”

She pointed to one of the first pages in the book. "Do you know what this stamp means?" she asked, and when he shook his head, continued, "It's a commissioned book. Worth a pretty penny mind you, commissioned books have drawings done by proper artists with colored inks, instead of the cheap printer books you find in the markets here. Find yourself a right buyer and you can have enough gold for a house or-" she eyed his Capital issued uniform, "a proper set of armor."

"Oh." he said, deflated, "I well… I actually didn't plan to sell it..." he trails off, and she gave him a confounded look. 

"Oh Nikolas," she rolled her eyes, sloshing the wine in her cup, "I'm angry, but not that angry! Why would you ever think you need bribe me with favors? Men. Really."

Nikolas rubbed his neck self consciously, "That's what all my friends would do." he said, adding, "They all said it worked."

Ennadda looked amused, "They all said to _you_ it worked. Have you ever thought to ask the woman what she thought of the matter?" she reached forward to tap his noise playfully, "But let us call it water under the bridge. I'm glad you're back. I meant to introduced you to someone."

"Oh?" said Nikolas, relieved at the change in topic, "Who is it?"  
  


"I remember you asking how is it that Camaira has a ban on weapons yet it is still possible for one to defend oneself. It has been years..." she sighed, deeply, taking a drink, "but I found someone who's quite adept at our arts. He's curious at Icfeld swordplay too, so I thought this might be a fair trade. You teach him your skills, he'll teach you his." 

"I see." said Nikolas, vaguely remembering the conversation, "When will I meet him?"

"Not here mind you, the poor matron can only ever pay for so many broken furniture." she said, "You know where the theater quarter is right? Dusk Close?" when he nodded, she continued, "Ask for Griulfo. He's the man you want."

"Wouldn't it be easier for you to teach me?" he said, with a smirk. 

"Contrary to what seamstresses may tell you, I am not a competent fighter. There's a difference between subduing a drunken oaf and deliberately engaging in a fight with a soldier with his wits. You would benefit from the latter."

"Are you saying, I deliberately go looking for fights?"

"I'm not saying, I am merely speaking the truth." she said, "Now, tell me of the book you've suddenly got your hands on. What is it about?"

"Well-" said Nikolas, opening the book and showing her the separated chapters, "you see-"

His explanations were met with a raised eyebrow and a skeptical frown from Ennadda. 

"I think, you're thinking too much about it." said Ennadda, tapping her chin, "Sometimes a book is just a book, you know." she said, lips twitching, "Have you ever considered being an academic?"

"No!" he said snapping, and relaxed when she burst into laughter. 

"Perhaps you're on the trail there." she said, "But it could be mere coincidence. Have you tried tracking down every entry and its relevant historical event?"

"I could, but that's… beyond my skill." he said, "Perhaps later."

"It's a good idea." she said, "Everyone loves reading a ramble on the intentions of an author. A proper one that is. Not the what the terrible papers they print every day writes, it's all, oh, this rich lord did that, but he didn't mean to do it, or ah, the lady wore pink and that means she is clearly in love." Ennadda huffed, crossing her arms, "I think they write badly on purpose. Nothing rots the mind more."

"I've never read those papers." said Nikolas, "I thought they only read them at court."

"Yes, yes." said Ennadda, waving an imaginary fan, "Only for the nobles, can't let the poors understand why Lord Vyncent is having relations with more women than his fingers and toes combined. The papers are left here every so often. The women here ask me to read it to them. I'd used them as fire starters otherwise."

"Hm." said Nikolas, "So, about your friend Griulfo, when does he want me to meet him?"

"Oh, of course." said Ennadda, "I forgot you have a _such_ an important schedule to keep, as a soldier in the Queen's army and all this. Griulfo's free after rehearsals every night. I imagine your friends can make it to the seamstresses without your escort."

"Do you mind keeping the book in your room?" said Nikolas, "Yours have a lock, mine doesn't."

She blinked at him, then nodded, "Here," she got up from the bed and moved towards the bureau pulling one drawer out and indicating the space behind it. 

The drawer, he realized, had been cut to be much smaller. "Thank you." he said.

"Don't make it a habit." she said, winking, "I don't think I can fit anything more than your book." 


	12. Jozin

He wanted to go to his rooms, but decided against it, making his way to his father's chambers. 

Rana gave him a confused look, "Why are you going to Lord Pierre's rooms?" she asked. 

"My father said Surio..." he took a deep breath, "he said Surio left me a gift. I want to… I want to see."

"Of course, m'lord." said Rana, "Would you like Gunnla and me to prepare your rooms? And, do you want me to come with you?"

"Do I look like a damsel going off to a dragon's cave?" Jozin said, snappishly, taking a deep breath again, "Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"My ma was in all sorts of tempers before she had my siblings." offered Gunnla, "You haven't thrown a chamberpot in my face, m'lord, I'm sure you have our forgiveness." she nodded earnestly. 

Rana gave Gunnla a disbelieving look, "Was it a full chamberpot?"

He didn't quite hear what Gunnla replied, it was better to get the whole affair over with. Ripping out a bur, as one would say. His father's room was at the end of the hall, and offered no resistance when he swung it open. 

It was a common belief that Lord Pierre was not the sentimental type. Afterall, he did order his wife's belongings to be removed from the manor itself, with the only reminder of her being her statue in the courtyard. So it came as a surprise, when he stepped into the room that his mother's embroidered pillows were still on her side of the bed, her wedding trunk at its foot.

The wedding trunk was a present to every young woman in Skapina before she was married from her parents. Her father would usually carve the trunk, or if he was lacking in skill, have it made by a craftsman. Her mother would then fill it, year by year, with things that were necessary in running the household, culminating with a wedding dress. Presumably, he would have been presented with one, but tradition dictates that it was the mother, or a female relative that presents the trunk, and not the father. There weren't any living relatives from his mother's side either, they were, from what he remembered his mother saying, an experimental family. That means going deep into magic, and everyone knew what happens when you delve too deeply. As his late teacher Sonnio was fond of saying, channeling the magic too deeply and the magic would channel you. 

That was how his mother became Lady Skapina, he thought, running his hands along the carved eagles on her wedding trunk. Her mother was simply there in her study one day, and gone in the morning, all that was left was a bow on her desk, the very same bow that Jozin carried. Lifting the lid, he peered inside to see the lute nestled in among various fabrics, clothing, most likely, and a tattered bound book. The lute was Surio's, he could recognize the familiar shadows of fingers on the fret, but different. Shinier, as if someone had recently applied varnish to it. He swallowed, running his hand over its table, where the a newly carved rossette depicted a sable curling around a bow. Behind the sable was a blooming apple flower. 

"You're a liar, Surio." he said, outloud, "You promised me that we would return home."

When he had travelled back to Skapina with his company, his thoughts often lingered on what could have been. All the promises Surio had whispered in his ear on their last night together, and all the faith that he had put into those words. Now, in the manor with what remains of Surio locked in a wooden chest, it burned a fire in his heart, an anger he did not usually entertain. His father had gone mad with it, and he had sworn never to give in to the base emotion. But now, he wanted to smash the lute in his hands, toss it off the balcony or cast into the fire like what they'd done with Surio's body. 

He should have never trusted Surio. Should've told him off and kicked him out when he came into his tent. It wasn't the Queen's army that put a feeling of utter dread into his stomach, it was whoever of the Seven that would stagger through the gates in the spring. His father's adopted sons would not stand another man's child. It was forbidden to think about, but his mind wandered to it nonetheless. 

Would it be kinder that the child he carried-

"M'lord?" Rana interrupted, knocking on the door, "I've prepared the room, and Gunnla filling the tub. What scent should I add to the bath?"

"Oh, right." said Jozin, standing up with a wince from his crouching position, hand on the neck of the lute, the book tuck under one arm, "I don't mind. Pick whatever you like, I'll be brief. I think you'd appreciate it more than I would."

"Of course, m'lord." said Rana, barely concealing relief, "I would very much like to wipe this muck off."

The fire was lit in his room when he entered, and Gunnla was busy pouring buckets of warm water into a tub behind a carved wooden screen. He never understood where all her energy came from. 

"The bath's ready m'lord." she offered, brightly, when she saw him.

"Thank you, Gunnla." he said, "Please, see to yourself. I'll see you tomorrow."

She nodded, taking the empty buckets with her when she left the room. 

"At least she didn't slam the door." Rana remarked dryly, "Would you like me to help you?"

"I'll manage." he said, pulling off his cloak and hanging it the closet. The lute was also placed inside, but the book was placed on his nightstand. Walking towards the screen and stepping behind it he began undoing the ties on his shirt. Wincing at the stiffness in his muscles that seemed to be a constant these months, he pulled it off his head and hung it over the screen. Hesitantly, he ran a hand down his stomach. He thinks he feels fluttering movement, whenever he pressed down. But it could all be his imagination, which have run the gamut from downright fantastical to suicidal of late. 

There wasn't many pregnant women he knew to compare if this was normal, and he wasn't sure if there were any carriers in Skapina. This could be how a pregnancy goes, for all he knows of it. Rana was an orphan wouldn't have a clue, and well, he didn't know how to approach Gunnla without the news being spread throughout Skapina that their lady had gone mad. It was nothing against her, but Gunnla could not keep a concern to herself. In all likelihood, she had already told her family of his condition, as soon as she entered their house. 

He pulls off his breaches with the same stiff motions, and lowered himself hesitantly into the water. At least it was pleasantly warm. Either Rana or Gunnla had placed a sponge on the side table, along with soap and he washed himself briskly. The soap smelled like lavender, a favorite of Rana's. Maybe he should just ask Rana to buy lavender scents and soaps, it wasn't as if he had a particular scent he was attached to. 

"Here's your nightshirt and towel." said Rana, "Would you like me to hand it to you or hang it over the screen?"

"Over the screen please." said Jozin, rinsing off the soap, and pulling the towel from the screen where she'd hung it. 

Bathing was certainly a luxury he's missed, he thought, putting on the nightshirt. 

"May I take my turn now?" asked Rana when he stepped out from behind the screen. 

"It's obvious I'm done, you didn't need to ask." he said, with a half smile. 

She rolled her eyes at him, pausing on his middle for half a moment before stepping behind the screen herself, a secondhand sleepshirt in her hands and a more threadbare towel in the other. 

He made himself comfortable on the bed while waiting for her, flipping open the book to see what was in it. The book was his grandmother's that was clear from the handwriting, and it seemed to consist of short stories, each illustrated in detailed watercolors. Her magnum opus, Jozin thinks, in awe at the vibrancy of the wolf that seemingly leaped from the page after a girl in a red cloak. 

The title read, Her Cinnabar Cloak and Her Wolf. Was in a Skapinian tale? It did not sound like one, though it started like every other story. He was so entranced by the illustrations that he jumped when Rana climbed into bed.

"Oh, are you reading a story?" said Rana, she looked at him with open curiosity, "Can you read it to me?"

"Why not?" said Jozin, shrugging. 

_One day, a little girl's mother called her to her side, and asked, her to carry a basket of food to her ailing grandmother. So the girl took the basket, don her cinnabar cloak and skipped merrily into the woods. While she was skipping about, she came across a wolf._

_"Hello, there my dear girl." said the wolf, "where are you going?"_

_"I'm off to my grandmother's house," said the girl._

_"To your grandmother's house?" said the wolf, pointing to the fork in the road "Which path would you be taking then, my sweet, the path of pins or the path of needles?"_

_"The path of needles." said the girl._

_"I see." said the wolf, and took the path of pins._

_The little girl thought nothing of the exchange and picked up several needles on her way to her grandmother's house._

_While she was doing so the wolf had already gone to her grandmother's house and killed her. He put on her nightgown and cap and waited in the bed, laughing as he waited for the knock on the door. When it came, he smiled with sharp teeth at the voice of the little girl on the other side._

_"Hello grandmother, I've come to bring you a basket of food." said the little girl._

_"Come in my child." said the wolf, "The door's not locked."_

_The little girl came into the door but flinched at the creature on her grandmother's bed._

_"Why, grandmother, what big ears you have!" she exclaimed._

_"The better to hear you with, my dearest!" said the wolf._

_"Oh, grandmother, your eyes! They are so big and swollen! Please, come closer so I can take a look."_

_The wolf, thinking this was an opportunity leaped from the bed towards the girl, and as he bent his head down towards her, she stabbed him in the eye with the needle she'd picked up._

_"You're not my grandmother!" the little girl yelled, "Have at it, you imposter!"_

_And she stabbed at his other eye too. The wolf howled in pain as the little girl ran for the door and back to her mother's house._

"What kind of story is that, m'lord?" said Rana, gawking at the text he read outloud to her. 

"I don't know what to make of it either." said Jozin, blinking reflexively at the, again, very detailed watercolor of the wolf's bleeding eyes. Did his grandmother personally blinded a wolf to get the inspiration?

"Wouldn't it give children nightmares?" wondered Rana, "I'd never go into the woods again."

"I don't see why it would." said Jozin, "The little girl won."

Rana looked unconvinced at his statement, "She did, but now you have a blind wolf wandering around the woods." she said, "Wouldn't the wolf just eat the next girl? He'll ask for help, oh, poor old me, I can't see, and snap, down the gullet the girl goes."

"I think… the little girl would warn her friends wouldn't she?" said Jozin, "And in any case, I doubt my grandmother thought as far as you did. She probably wanted to draw wolves."

Alongside blood and sinew, but that was beside the point. 

"It's your grandmother's?" said Rana, then adding, "Did you find it in the chest?"

"You," said Jozin, closing the book and placing it on the table, "Ask too many questions. And yes, it was in the chest. I've never seen this book before."

"Do you think Lord Pierre read it?"

"I wouldn't know." said Jozin, "Maybe not. He doesn't read children's stories."

They fell silence, with Rana's voice hushed in the quiet darkness, "You know," said the young woman, "I'm glad I'm back. I never want to leave again."

"I'm glad to be back too." said Jozin, "Good night Rana."

"Good night m'lord." said Rana, blowing out the candle. 

He listens for her breathing to even out, half wishing he had the talent to fall asleep that quickly. The book reminded him of the stories his mother used to tell, before his father bought an end to it, saying, as he would, that it was for children, and Jozin was no longer a child. One such story was the foundation of Skapina, which was such a strange tale, he could not bring himself to believe it, even as a child. 

From what he remembered, it went something like this. 

_When the world was forming and the barriers between the magic realm and our world was quite thin, a dragon accidentally slipped between it and found itself in our world. The dragon being quite confused and injured, rampaged through the kingdoms looking for a way back home. The people being afraid, seeked for a hero to slay the strange beast. Many tried and all failed. Except for one man, a healer, who, instead of reaching for his sword to slay the dragon chose to sit and observe. He realized that the dragon was wounded and, approached it, dropping his sword and offering it his aid._

_The dragon stared at him, uncomprehending for the dragon did not speak the man's tongue. But after a while, they came to an understanding. To heal the dragon's injuries, the man must craft for it, from the thistles nearby, a particular cloak, and, as the dragon indicated, fling it over the dragon._

This was when Jozin had interrupted his mother, with a confused, "How big was the cloak?"

  
To which his mother had responded, "Well, how big are dragons? They are magic and can surely manipulate their size, now hush."

_The man went back to his village and crafted the cloak, and with each weave, his fingers would bleed from the thorns on the thistles. One day, his work was discovered by the villagers, and in their panic and the patterns and his bloodied hands, commanded him to be locked up and executed. However, on the day of the execution, who else was to fly into the town square but the dragon, and the healer seeing this, threw the cloak over the dragon. To everyone's surprise what appeared before them was lovely youth. The dragon apologized, saying that it was not their intention, and they would willingly give the villagers their aid for the damage they had done. Their explanation was that above the village was a thin portal, and in their curiosity, they had fallen through. I will return home, said the dragon, when I can understand how._

_As hard as the dragon tried, the portal remained closed, and privately, the dragon cocded defeat. However, the dragon residing in the village proved to be a strange state of affairs. For it was undeniable that the human appearance that they took swayed the hearts of the young men and women there._

"Oh, gross!" Jozin had exclaimed, "A dragon! Why would you want to kiss a dragon!"

"Some people are easily swayed by appearances." his mother had said. "Now, can I continue?"

_Many tried to sway the dragon by giving gifts. But nothing moved the dragon's heart, until the healer approached the dragon one day._

_"Are you leaving soon, to reject everyone's hand?" said the healer._

_"Why do you care?" said the dragon, "You did not seek me."_

_"I apologize," said the healer, "I thought you would have accepted an offer."_

_"They gave me gifts but did not offer me a name, and on that basis, I reject."_

_"What do you mean, a name?" said the healer._

_"An exchange of names." said the dragon, "Give me a name."_

_"Skapina." said the healer, "Will you be my lady Skapina?"_

_"Lady Skapina." said the dragon, "I like that, Iosef."_

He knew his mother had continued the story for a while after that, but he couldn't quite remember what it was. It was too late to try recollecting the memories, and he sighed, closing his eyes. His last thoughts was that of hoping for a dreamless sleep. 

The next day saw Preta looking flustered, his usually pristine clothes aschrew when Rana opened the door to see him in. 

"I asked everyone to look." he blurted, "We can't find it. It's not in anyone's packs."

Rana gave him a disbelieving look. "How?" she demanded.

"I don't know, woman!" said Preta, "If I'd known, I'd gotten it in my hands wouldn't I?" he gave Jozin a low bow, "I apologize. I should have asked everyone to empty their packs-"

"It happened." said Jozin, swallowing disappointment, "Nothing you can do about it."

"What would you like us to do in the meantime, Lady Skapina?" said Preta, "Patrols?"

"I am not sure when Knight and his company would reach us." said Jozin, "Please tell the townsfolk it's best they leave their houses above ground empty, for the time being. I will offer any compensation for their trouble."

"Understood." said Preta, then, adding, "I saw Master Thaldi's messenger boy outside the manor. Seems like he wishes to have an audience."

"Brilliant." said Jozin, dryly. 

"Should I come with you?" offered Preta.

"Give the others my instructions then come back here." said Jozin, "Master Thaldi is undoubtedly having his morning cup, and one never wants to deprive that man of his earthly pleasures."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my universe, dragons are biological hermaphrodites, as such, the dragon in Jozin's story just liked the sound of Lady Skapina over simply being called Skapina.


	13. Jozin

The thing one must always remember about Master Thaldi is that, even though he may look the part of a innocuous and grandfatherly man, a clean and ironed surcoat, a kept white beard, a kindly twinkle in his grey eyes and a smile on his lips, he was nothing but. He would, with one hand, pat a child kindly on the head and give them a sweet, and with the other, hold their parents at knifepoint. Age meant he could no longer hold the knife himself, but that only meant he'll have hired someone or magicked something to do it for him. 

There was always something else he wanted when he spoke, and the old codger wasn't bothered to tell it straight. Jozin suspects he delights in it, like a full belied cat dangling a mouse from one paw to the next. 

"Are you sure he would accept your offer, Lady Skapina?" said Preta, "Valdi told us he doesn't like what you're proposing. Thinks that Master Thaldi would reject it."

"There's nothing else I an offer that he can't buy somewhere else." said Jozin, waving away Rana's attempt to help him with his coat and shrugging it on himself. 

"Didn't he want you to wed one of his spawn awhile back?" said Rana, "Or was it Master Snaufri?"

"He would like to," said Jozin, buttoning the coat that was now tighter than he'd preferred, "But he knows all of his sons would rather he shuffles off the mortal circle and them being married to me would make it more easier for that to happen."

"He's lived for ages!" exclaimed Rana, "Isn't he even older than Valdi?"

"The Master Thaldi lives on wine and discontent." said Preta, "There's plenty of that around his household to keep him for the next ten or so years, I reckon." he glanced at Jozin, "Shall we go, Lady Skapina?"

"Best not keep the man waiting." said Jozin, "Don't bother keeping the house, Rana, you should enjoy your time back home." 

She gave a wide grin at that and an excited nod. Preta rolls his eyes, "Don't spend all your coins on the oat cakes now, on my way here, I heard Missus Leidise's storage had a swarm of rats."

Rana wrinkled her nose, "Thank you for the warning."

Preta gave her a cheeky half salute before left the room with Jozin. When the door closed, Jozin muttered, "You know she likes lavender-scented things more than oat cakes."

"It was that obvious?" said Preta, surprised.

  
  
"Very." said Jozin, smiling at Preta's look of dismay.

Little Stilli was waiting for them at the steps, and he sprung up when he saw them, nearly tripping on his own feet. 

  
"Good morning, Lady Skapina!" he piped up brightly. 

"Good morning, Stilli." said Jozin, "Master Thaldi wishes to see me?"

"Yes," said Stilli, "He told me," here the boy squints, as if recalling a message, "to thank you for your concern about my wellbeing, and hopes you come as promptly as you can."

Which would be roughly translated to, _I see you make people like you by inquiring to their wellbeing, tipping well and smiling at them, and as a negligent practitioner of this way of thought, I begrudgingly congratulate you._

"I see." said Jozin, "Please, lead the way, Stilli."

There was really no need for Stilli to lead them to the house, Jozin knew where Master Thaldi's house was located on the above ground of Skapina. To get to his sprawling underground house one only needs to enter a series of doors in the house above, which was where Stilli was needed. The younger boy opened the door's house and lead them on a series of hallways and doors until they came to the underground entrance. He left them there with a smile to Jozin and a bow, less clumsy than the one last night. 

"I'll count how many times he blinks." whispers Preta as Jozin knocks on the door. 

"Please enter, Lady Skapina." came a voice from the other side. 

_I'd prefer you not to enter, but I must grant my time to you._

Master Thaldi was sitting on a richly embroidered chair when they entered, and gestured at Jozin to take the chair in front of him. Preta gave a bow to Master Thaldi and took his place at the door, hand on his sword. The older man smiled and motioned at the mahogany table, decked with sweetbreads, tea and wine in front of him. 

"My house is your house, Lady Skapina." said Master Thaldi, "It is a great thing, to have a loyal guard."

_Again, I begrudgingly welcome you into my house. I have not been able to keep loyal guards, I do not believe such a thing exists._

"Thank you." said Jozin, "For your hospitality, but I've already taken my breakfast. I would very much like us to get to the matter at hand."

"Of course," said Master Thaldi, "To preface, of course I am hoping that your lord father's wars are going smoothly. One always wishes for men to return safely to their wives and children." a paused and a long sniff, "I am glad to see you make use of the passage to Skapina. However, the maintenance of said passage requires certain fees to be paid, you must understand."

_I wished your father had failed badly so I have the excuse to call my men back and they can be put to use working in my workshops. A man needs no wife or child but his gold coffer. Your use of my passage is of great monetary importance to me, and this makes my heart pound in anticipation of the gold to follow._

"I must confess, Master Thaldi, that I doubt I can offer any payment that you otherwise do not have." said Jozin, ripping off the burr, "However, I have a proposition that you may find interesting." he paused, and Master Thaldi waved his ringed left hand to continue, "I would like to take your advice in who would be my husband."

"A peculiar trade." said Master Thaldi, "I thought it was common knowledge, you and Surio. He isn't here with you now, and I suppose, then, my condolences. Such things happen in war. I see there's a parting reminder." the Master smiles, "Children are such welcomed blessings from the Goddess."

_I must maintain a semblance of being human, and such, parrot back common platitudes._

"It has been suggested by my lord father, that I marry anyone of the Seven that survives the war." said Jozin, "I would like your advice in this matter."

"The Seven?" said Master Thaldi, raising an eyebrow, "If you would pardon me, Lady Skapina, for what I am about to say. Your father, Goddess bless, raised eight sons and none except one, that is, you, I would consider proper company. I believe your taking my advice in this matter is not sufficient payment for your passage, as I simply do not believe any of the seven are worthy of you."

_Your father's seven adopted sons are warlike and aggressive and border wars don't go well with trade routes. You out of all of them understand this so I will throw you a bone for being intelligent, and I am now smiling at the thought of extortion._

"I understand." said Jozin, "In this case, we are at an impasse. Unless there is something you wish to suggest?"

"Oh, I do have another suggestion." said Master Thaldi, a little too quickly, "You see, though I am no general or knight myself, I can understand some middling martial strategy now and then. You were concerned about being followed, were you not, when you took my tunnel? I suggest then, you wait and see what army marches into Skapina and then choose from them a suitable husband. A malleable one. You know the type. And, from what my merchants have told me, those Icfelders don't speak our tongue. Business can go on as usual."

Jozin blinks, then said, "You would accept this as payment?"

"Oh, I would. I would." said Master Thaldi, tapping his chin, "It is quite clever your father, letting part of the Queen's army chase you to Skapina. I must applaud the talent of our women here, I would think most of the Icfelders would be properly _employed_ some way or another come spring and there would be no need to kill them. Certainly some Masters here are chomping at the bit for fresh hands. With regards to your future husband, I would rather, as us merchants would say, load an empty cart with my own goods than empty a cart of another man's treasures."

The older man smiled, pouring himself a glass of wine and drinking it in one smooth gesture. "May I also add, it is my belief that none of the Seven would treat kindly the child of another man. You best put your eggs in the basket of whatever Icfeld soldier come stumbling through the gates than wait for the sword, or poison, or whatever ill will to fall. And it will." Master Thaldi gave a rather unpleasant smile, "This is my honest observation to you, Lady Skapina, for free."

"I graciously accept." said Jozin, swallowing bile, "Would that be all, Master Thaldi?"

"That would be all. I wish you a pleasant and lovely day."

_That was all rather tiresome and now I can finally return to my favorite activity of counting coins._


	14. Hana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you remember Hana, the witch that gave the fortunes a few chapters ago? Well, here she is now, and with her, 50% of the title drop.

According to her calendar and tea leaves, the much long awaited winter festival was approaching, and along with it an interesting stranger. Her announcement earned her a hissed laugh from Kida. 

"That clumsy white bird, an interesting stranger?" said Kida, peering into the teacup with deep skepticism in her amber eyes, "We see her every time the Coven sends an invitation."

"You never know." said Hana, "Maybe she'll get a holiday and we'll see someone else."

Her cottage was isolated from civilization enough, it would be nice to meet another living being. Kida was not a happy housemate in the winter, more content to sleep curled up near the fireplace than offer her any suggestions on the potions she was working on. Some days it was a lonely existence, though Hana always reassured herself that it was what she had chosen. Someone had to deliver lost familiars to their witches after all, even if familiars rarely lost their witches. 

The last familiar she'd delivered was an uncooperative squirrel who nearly fell out of the wicker cage as they were flying off to Skapina. Kida had laughed and laughed as she nearly crashed her broom trying to snatch the poor thing from the jaws of Death. 

"I never liked the furry ones." Kida had pronounced, staring at the squirrel tucked in Hana's bag, chittering angrily, "Their witches are so… emotional."

"You know that's not true." Hana had said, irritably. 

"As a general rule, it is." Kida had said, "We'll see who's right."

As usual, Kida was right. The young apprentice witch had given an ear splitting squeal of happiness when Hana introduced her to her familiar. 

"Best of luck to you." Hana had said, waving farewell to the girl and her waiting teacher, who gave Hana a long suffering look. 

"I told you so." Kida had said. 

"You are always correct." Hana had conceded, and Kida had bobbed her head in agreement. 

"We ought to learn this tongue." Kida had suggested, "It seems to take everyone such a long time to understand us."

"I don't see why I should." Hana had responded, "Everyone understood me quite well." she paused, an urgent task suddenly coming to her mind, "Do you mind watching my tent, while I go off to get the mushrooms?"

That venture had taken a lot longer than she expected. She had ran into the late Lady Skapina's child, and spontaneously offered to read them and their young friends their fortunes. Kida had not been happy about the interlopers and curled up in the protective cage, shooting her an irritated glare every now and then. She even had the gall to criticize her dramatic disappearance as, a _clumsy parlor trick_. 

Kida always took great pleasure in being rightly smug, and when the honks came from outside her door, the snake gave her a look of superior righteousness. 

"I told you, didn't I?"

She opened the door to see the goose, with usual satchel full of invitations around its body, who honked angrily when she took too long to take the envelope in her mouth. 

"Sorry," she said, reflexively, "I didn't hear you."

The goose gave her a disdainful look. Familiars, on principle, don't talk to witches that are not theirs, but the goose made her feelings quite clear. There was no taboo for familiars talking to each other, on the other hand. Her own Kida, curled around her arm, hissed back. 

"You are rude, white bird." she said, looking unapologetic when Hana gave her a disapproving look.

"Would you like some bread before you go?" Hana offered. 

This earned her a pause from the goose, then she bobbed her head up and down and honked. 

"We are going to the party?" Kida asked, "It would be nice. I would like to see the others."

"Maybe." said Hana, "You know I don't like parties."

The goose honked her appreciation before flapping her wings and flying off. She stared after her, breathing in the cold mountain air and taking in the wintry silence. The animals around her little cottage usually kept their distance. Sometimes they'd come to her during hard winters to scavenge for leftovers. So it came as a surprise to her that when the silence was broken by an angry screech at her feet. She jumped, nearly slipping on the fresh ice. 

"Go away furry creature." said Kida, irritated at being jostled, "We already have our invitation."

"No, wait." said Hana, "I don't think I know anyone with a sable familiar."

Her eyes were caught on the banner that the sable dragged behind it. A sable curled around a bow, how original. Was this the new style of witches to have banners? Kida made a disapproving hiss. 

"A witch with a banner?" said Kida, sounding as skeptical as a snake could, "How manly and wizard-like, yet you would want to meet with this one over the party in Skapina."

"I've never seen one with a banner before." said Hana, "Why not?"

"You are not the adventuring type." said Kida, disdainfully. "We saw it just now."

"If you are done talking." said the sable, "I would very much like your help."

They both jumped at the sable's voice. Kida curled around her arm tighter, snaking her head towards the sable at Hana's feet, she said, incredulously, bobbing her head, "You are not female?"

"No." said the sable, cocking his head to the side, "Should I be?"

"I told you it would be interesting! A male witch!" Hana exclaimed, "I've met only a handful."

"Male witch?" said the sable, looking adorably confused. 

Hana resisted the impulse to ruffle the sable's fur. 

"You are not with a witch?" said Hana, "Oh my." she looked excitedly at Kida, "I think we've got an Incident!"

"How joyous." said Kida, "I suppose we must go now, the best place for a reunion when you have an Incident is Skapina."

"Skapina?" said the sable, "What is a skapina?"

"Oh you poor dear!" exclaimed Hana, "You don't remember anything?"

"No." said the sable, "There was a great darkness, then a light. Then I was here, with this-" he indicated with one paw to the banner, "soft thing that has me on it."

"Hmm." said Hana, crouching down to take a look at the banner and examining the sable, "You do have peculiar eyes for a sable. Very green. I've never seen green eyes on a sable." she raised her arm to look at Kida, "He must be a familiar. Why else would he have green eyes?"

"What is your name, furry creature?" said Kida. 

"I dunno." said the sable, "Sable? You said I was one."

"He must be an unimaginative dotard in life." hissed Kida in her ear, "Imagine, you calling me snake!"

"Sable." said Hana, firmly, "I suppose if your witch doesn't like it, they'll give you a new one." she reached with both hands towards the banner, "Would you mind me folding the banner? I'll take it with us. It might help find whoever is your witch."

Later as they were flying through the air, headed towards Skapina it occurred to Hana that she did have an invitation to what might be the current, Lady Skapina's table. She has long stopped keeping track of years, and it could very well be that Lady Skapina was coming into his powers. What an interesting situation, perhaps she would be the one to reunite Lady Skapina with their missing familiar. In her many years, it has been her experience that there was no such thing as coincidences. Something song worthy would happen, that was certain. It would make a nice carving on her broom, a story to tell and a song to sing to witches whenever she would meet them. 


	15. Nikolas

For all the time he'd spent in the Capital, Nikolas had never stepped foot in Dusk Close. He would like to blame his aversion to acting and theater at the feet of Alchelm, who made his distaste plain to his household. One time he had snuck out with his sisters to go see a theater troupe play, and the punishment that was dealt out wasn't worth seeing acrobats, bards or animal tamers. Lianne had obviously loved it. 

"It's so romantic." she'd said, waving an imaginary fan as they recalled the event, "I didn't even know a man can sing that high a note."

Nikolas had said, "He's a carrier, they can reach higher notes."

"Oh, Nikolas is so smart!" Lianne had sniffed, miming a swoon while twirling her brown curls around one finger "So what? Are you jealous?" she had sniggered when he shot her an angry look. "Oh you are!" she had sing-songed, "You know no one's stopping you. Go join the troupe. They would love a Saint among their ranks."

"Will you stop calling me that?" Nikolas had snapped, irritated.

"It's true." Felie had chimed in, "You could've lied to father. He wouldn't have known if you didn't tell."

Lianne must have sensed that their teasing struck a nerve, because she had said, placatingly, "You didn't have to say it was your idea. Father wouldn't have punished us harshly anyway. He's always been soft."

"We can go next year!" Felie had proclaimed, "And if you don't want to lie, Nikolas, you don't have to come with us."

They never did go because next year the plague struck. He shakes his head. There was no point in dwelling on what might have happened. 

Dusk Close was a chaotic maze of tents, wagons and hastily constructed stages. There were shouts in all manners of tongues, some Nikolas recognized, like the smooth and vowely sounds of Camairan, the staccato speech of Arnechian. Others were entirely foreign to him, sounding guttural, harsh, and in one case, sounded like the speakers were speaking in song. The hustle and bustle came to a halt as he passed by. He could see eyes of the people on his back. He hesitated, wondering if he should turn around and asked Ennadda to walk him there, but before he could make a decision there came a sharp tap on his shoulder.

"Nikolas! Jen vi. Bone, li estas kun mi!"

With his rusty knowledge of Camairan, he gathered that it must be a greeting. There couldn't be anyone else that knew him here except for Ennadda's friend, Griulfo. At least, that was what he suspected. The man gave Nikolas a half smile, extending out a callused hand. The hostile looks that were directed to him seemed to melt away. 

Griuflo wore his hair and beard short, and while Nikolas stood at least one head taller than him, there was an air of confidence and calm that radiated from the other man. Like other Camairans, he was dark skinned, and as was their tradition, wore a concealed dagger somewhere on his person. The latter he learned from Ennadda, not the handful of Camairan merchants that visited his father's house. 

He hesitated, struggling for the words. "Bona komerco, Griulfo?" he offered.

"Vi ne parolas Camairan?" Griuflo replied, questioning. 

"Ne multe. Pardonu." said Nikolas, bowing his head briefly in apology. 

"I speak your tongue, some." said Griuflo, indicating with his hand a small amount, "All fine. I ask for translator."

"Come, come." said Gruiflo, indicating Nikolas to follow him. 

The Camairan man lead him to one of the bigger stages that were set up in Dusk Close, and indicated that he should climb up the stairs and duck through the curtains. Several faces looked up in interest at their arrival. The troupe of the stage, Nikolas thought. There were the musicians, one a woman with tightly braided hair, tuning her harp in the corner, the other a man replacing the strings on his lute. Two girls, the musicians' children, judging by their features, peeked shyly from the woman's shoulders. The others were probably actors, actresses or stagehands, it was hard to tell their role as they were in various states of relaxation; asleep, drinking, or in one notable case doing a series of complicated stretches. Gruiflo gestured to the harpist, "Faila, ĉu vi helpos min traduki?" he said. 

"Of course." said Faila, extricating herself from her girls' grasps with a stern frown, "Pleased to meet you, Nikolas." she extended a hand, and her grip was firm when Nikolas shook it, "Gruiflo said we should expect you. I suppose you've never been to Dusk Close before, have you? I would suggest not wearing that uniform next time you come here. Soldiers aren't precisely welcomed."

"Oh." said Nikolas, thinking of the meagre belongings he had, "Thank you. I won't."

He thinks she guesses at his unspoken question, because she continued, "We've had some who come here for seconds after we've paid the Queen's levies. It happens often enough that the uniform unsettles the folk here."

"I see." said Nikolas, frowning at the information. 

His musings was interrupted by Gruiflo, who snapped a quick, "Nikolas, kapti!", before throwing what looked like an actor's prop helm in his general direction. It was only instinct that had him catch the helm and the wooden sword that followed instead of them hitting him in the face. Gruiflo nods approvingly. 

The other man then said something in rapid succession to Faila who nodded and said, "Gruiflo says you have good instincts. He notices you don't have the Icfeld armor and says he would like, for this session, for you to imagine that you do, as he wants to see what the armoured fighting style of Icfeld looks like."

"I haven't actually worn the full armor." said Nikolas, "They're quite expensive. But I can wear this if you want."

Faila stepped forward, holding out the other pieces of armor. It was made of cheap metal, from the looks of it, possibly even fool's gold. Gruiflo steps forward and gives him a short bow, arms at his side, he turns to Faila expectantly, who sighs dramatically, and said, "Camairans do a bow every time they start and end their training. Just bow back."

Nikolas repeated the motion, and Gruiflo smiled, saying another rush of words to Faila, who said after a pause, "Gruiflo asks if you've done, hmm, stretches? He says it would be unkind to send you back home with an injury."

"Stretches?" said Nikolas, "This morning during the drills." at the gesture from Gruiflo to continue, he added, "We ran around the barracks. Is that what he meant?"

At Faila's translation, Gruiflo tsks, and Faila looks vaguely amused when she gave the translation of, "He says that is not what he meant. He'll show you. Just hold out your hands, and imitate him." she then adds, "You're lucky he's only showing you three of them. I've seen his morning stretches go on for half an hour."

Gruiflo stands in front of him, motioning Nikolas to hold out his hands. "La unua." said Gruiflo. The other man held out his left hand, grasping the back of it with his right, the thumb of his left circled his left. Then he drew both hands to his upper chest, all the while flexing his left wrist inwards, the fingers of his left hand touching his left forearm. He did this motion several times, then switched hands. At Nikolas's hesitant imitation, he reached out to correct the position of his fingers. After several tries, Gruiflo nodded his approval. 

"La dua." he said. Gruiflo raised his left hand to his chest, rotating it outward at his wrist. The next few moves had Nikolas blinking in bemusement, his fingers grasping at his own palm in what he knew was clearly not what Gruiflo was doing. The Camairan huffs a laugh, and gently dircted Nikolas's right hand around his left hand, moving his thumb between the knuckles of Nikolas's little and ring finger. Gently bending the other four fingers of his right hand around Nikola's palm, he motioned for Nikolas to rotate his left hand outward. This was then repeated with his other hand, and Nikolas was given a nod of approval at his replication.

"La tria." said Gruiflo. The man extended his left hand in front of him, thumb pointing down and his palm facing away from him. He grasped his left hand with his right, bringing his left wrist towards his stomach. Gruiflo then rotated his fingers upwards, all the while pressing his fingers towards his elbow. Of course, this was then repeated with his other hand. 

After Nikolas was able to replicate this new movement, Gruiflo turns to Faila speaking in rapid Camairan. Faila nods, and says "He tells me that if you can come earlier, he'd like to show you more stretches. He apologizes that he didn't tell you to come earlier before, he says the moves he wants to practice today will involve your wrists, which is why he showed them to you now. He also says, whenever you're ready, show him some of your swordplay, he's decided you shouldn't wear the armor or helm today."

"I'm ready." said Nikolas, taking the wooden sword in his hand and a fighting stance. 

Gruiflo also takes his stance, right leg forward, left leg extended, with his left foot at an angle. He splayed the fingers of both of his hands, holding his right hand higher than his left. "I'm ready." he told Nikolas. 

"Don't be gentle!" said Faila from the sidelines, "Give him your best swing!"

Nikolas blinks at this instruction, but dutifully steps forward and gives it his best swing. He expected Gruiflo to step away from the blow, which the other man did. 

"Daŭrigu!" said Gruiflo, from his right side, and Nikolas obliged, going for a stabbing motion instead, aiming for the man's stomach. 

As expected, again, the man stepped away from the blow. Nikolas huffs, gripping the sword with two hands and raising it for an upwards blow. This time, he yelps in surprise when Gruiflo steps to the side and grabs at his sword hand with one hand and the hilt of his sword with the other. He had a few moments to register his wrist being bent, his fingers loosing grip on the sword before he fell flat on his back, Gruiflo pulling the sword out of his hands in one smooth motion. 

His head ringing, Nikolas registers Faila's voice. 

"Gruiflo says he apologizes for that, he'll teach you how to fall the next time."

"I didn't know falling was an art form." said Nikolas, standing up gingerly.

"Gruiflo says he doesn't know what is taught in Icfeld but all Camairan children learning this are taught how to fall. He says an uncontrolled fall can break bones, and with this style of fighting, it more important than you may realize." Faila pauses, sighing, "Must I translate all of your words, Gruiflo? Oh, fine," she huffs, continuing, "he says, that your Icfeld technique is trying to break through the man's armor, he could see you aim for the weak points. Gruiflo also says that compared to Icfeld, Camairan's armor is less advanced, and their fighters move faster, so your techniques, the heavy swings, the helm that block your view, would make you vulnerable."

"I see." said Nikolas, "Ne dankinde." he said, remembering the earlier exchange and giving a short bow to Gruiflo. 

The Camairan smiled and bowed back. 

"You'll have to ask my girls to help you next time." said Faila, "I'll be busy with recital, here," she held out a tunic to Nikolas, "Put this on over your other tunic, it'll keep the eyes off of you."

"Thanks," said Nikolas, pulling on the tunic with a grateful smile, "ĝis revido, Gruiflo, I'm sorry I don't speak much more than that."

He gives the other spectators a half wave, which was ignored by the majority of them, but Faila's two girls waved back, giggling. The curtain falls behind him when he thinks he heard one of the actors remark, "...too nice, they don't last long in the army."

When he made his way down to Dusk Close the next evening, wearing the tunic Faila gave him, the response was remarkably warmer. Several men approached him offering a seat at whatever performance they would put on later that night, and in one particular case, was openly flirtatious. It would be the case then, Nikolas thinks wryly, that the synonym of a seamstress in Icfeld is an actor. His firm headshake at the invitation and very red face earned him gales of laughter from bystanders. 

Faila's stage was busy when he arrived, true to her word, she was rushing back and forth from one actor to the next, adjusting costumes and shouting instructions. The actors were dressed in oversized bird costumes, while the lone actress was dressed in everyday clothes. One of Faila's daughters was standing with her, twirling a stick idly in one hand. The other, seeing Nikolas, gave a bright smile and bounded towards him. 

"Good morning, Sir Nikolas!" she said cheerfully, skidding to a halt in front of him, "My sister's busy, you see, so I'm going to be helping you today."

"Good morning, " Nikolas said, "You don't have to call me Sir, I'm not a knight." he paused, returning her cheer, "What should I call you?"

"I'm Maera!" she said, "You know, it's my sister's debut soon?"

"Oh, is it?" said Nikolas, glancing at the stage, "And what is she playing?"

"Ainnar's going to be the little sister in _a phiùthrag's a phiuthar._ " said Maera, "It's so easy, all she has to do is stand there, but she gets to fly too!"

"I'm not familiar with a phithrag a phithar," said Nikolas, and Maera giggles at the botched words, "What is it?"

" _A phiùthrag's a phiuthar_ ," corrected Maera, "it's about two sisters, and young one's gone missing and her older sister's looking for her, and she can't find her cause the fairies took her." said Maera in a rush, pointing at the actors on stage, "They don't look like fairy costumes to me, but mama said that fairies can look whatever they please, and it's better to not look like real ones cause you might make one mad and then they'll curse your troupe."

"What does a fairy look like to you then?" said Nikolas, half wondering if he had asked the same question to Lianne. 

"Well, they look like us, but they don't look like us." said Maera, "Mama said she saw one when she was a child in Llaisy, but she said she ran away before she got a proper look." Maera held out her hand, "Come, I'll show you where Gruiflo is."

He took her hand, and a half remembered memory came flooding back, of Felie dragging him to the fair to see the performers. She didn't have the dark blond hair that Maera had, or worn her hair in plaits, but her hand in his had just been as warm and inviting. Felie would have loved to see the play… Lianne also. 

Maera didn't lead him behind the stage, pulling him pass several other wagons and stages until they reached the singular well maintained building in Dusk Close. It was the mayor's house, presumably, but Dusk Close had never entertained any mayors. Maera pushed open the unlocked door and lead him into the courtyard behind it. Someone had spread out several layers of woven mats on the even stone, and what Nikolas presumes is a small altar in the middle of the southernmost wall. Gruiflo was seated in front of the altar, his legs folded underneath him and hands in his lap. 

"You should take off your shoes." said Maera, motioning for him to leave them by the courtyard entrance.

"Bonvenon Nikolas." he said, gesturing for Maera and Nikolas to sit. He spoke Camairan with Maera, who translated, after some pauses. 

"Gruiflo says that we're going to bow to the Teacher-" she motioned to the picture on the altar, "to start the lesson, and he says next time we enter- sorry, I should have told you, we should bow at the door before entering- and leaving too." she added, "He says, we do it as a sign of grat-ti-tude, and rememberance."

Nikolas stared at the slightly blurry picture of a Camairan man, and asked, "Who is the Teacher?"

Maera didn't hesitate to ask Gruiflo, instead offering up an explanation as if she herself had asked the same before him, "He's the father of the Camairan art of being in har-mo-ny with with your opponent. Everyone has energy when they are fighting, magical or not, but the Teacher taught that, instead of using your energy to fight against your opponent, you should direct their energy away from you."

"Hmm." said Nikolas, "I see."

"You'll understand when we practice, but first-" she gigged, "stretches!"

What followed was as promised, a series of stretches that Nikolas predict would result morning aches and pains. When that was over, Gruiflo demonstrated a forward, standing, and, to Nikolas's fascination and horror, a backwards roll.

"Now for the fun part!" exclaimed Maera, bouncing on the heels of her feet. 

After Gruiflo showed him the first technique, with Maera as his helpful opponent, it clicked for Nikolas why they did the wrist excercises. Maera had said that it was redirecting the opponent's energy, which, was true in a way, but one can't really see energy. It was more along the lines of find the weak points; in an enemy's grip of your arm, in his grip on his sword, in his stance as he rushes towards you, and take advantage. If he was fighting as an Icfeldian soldier, this would mean shoving a sword through them, but, in the Camairan manner, he would instead pin them in such a way that his opponent would be unable to fight back. Or get up for that matter, as clearly demonstrated by Maera. Size wasn't even a concern. He was taught that the bigger the better. It wasn't the case here, as he found himself being knocked on his back several times by a child barely half his size. 

"It's your balance. The closer you are to the earth, the harder it is to make you fall." said Maera, offering him a hand to stand up. 

She then proceeded to knock him down several times more times with the techniques Gruiflo demonstrated. It wasn't a fluke, the young girl clearly knew what she was doing. Gruiflo called the lesson off after two hours had passed, and they sat down again, bowing to the altar before standing up and taking their leave. He thought that would be all, but Faila had intercepted the three of them, offering Nikolas a place at her table. It was impossible to refuse Faila, and an insult as well, so he found himself sitting alongside her daughters. Maera had excitedly introduced the actress dancing with Ainnar as Eldis, while the costumed actors were Owall, Phippero and Posilo, with later two not speaking Camairan or Icfeldian. Nikolas suspected from their features they were from the same island as Faila, and his suspicions were correct at Maera's comment.

"They speak my mama's tongue." said Maera, and she said something to the men which elicited their laughter. 

Other notable members of the troupe was their bard, Jaufre, who had a penchant for elaborately feathered hats and a traveling painter, Erwing. The latter Nikolas struck up an amicable conversation with, fascinated at how the man was able to capture the troupe's likeness with charcoal on paper. He thought Jaufre was had misgivings about him joining the troupe for their meals until he found himself alone with the bard one evening.

"Do merchants sing any songs?" Jaufre asked, with barely concealed curiosity.

"Not that I know of." said Nikolas, half wondering how fast gossip traveled in Dusk Close, he certainly didn't tell Faila and her troupe where he came from, "My father wasn't the type to sing."

"That's a shame." said Jaufre, "I know the Skapinian merchants have working songs they sing when loading their carts." he paused, frowning, "Though I suppose they are not precisely songs."

  
"What do you mean?" said Nikolas.

"Do you know much about Skapina?" said Jaufre, "From what I've heard, songs sung there become a type of magic." he sighed deeply, "I'd sell my lute to the Skapinian merchants gain entry, but alas, there is a surplus of lutes every time I've gone to see them. And their borders are guarded by witches, so one can't walzt in anytime one pleases."

"I admit I don't know much about Skapina." said Nikolas, "I have heard their tongue sounds very strange." he frowns, "What do you mean by songs becoming magic?"

"Have you ever seen a _magic_ show in Dusk Close?" said Jaufre, stressing the word magic, "They're not really magic, it's all about confounding the audience and pointing in the wrong direction. I'm told you can feel magic the moment you step in Skapina, and... hmm...it's hard to describe... you're not a witch, are you? Suffice to say, songs sung there come to life." he shrugged his shoulders, "I can't explain more, you'll have to see it yourself one day."

"I see." said Nikolas, confused, "You want to go there to sing?"

"Doesn't every bard?" replied Jaufre, "But the merchants don't take lutes and money for entry, I told you before. You need to sing them a good song. A witch song, if you will," he elaborated, "it has to be your own creation, and well known by many. The latter's the hard part. Any bard worth his lute can write a tune. One day..." he trailed off, a wistful look in his eyes.

"Good luck." said Nikolas, wishing he too had such a clear goal for his future.

"I'm certain you are going places too, _Sir_ Nikolas." said Jaufre, playfully.

"I'm not from a noble family." protested Nikolas, "I won't get the promotion."

"With that pessimism, you won't." said Jaufre, "I've heard Ennadda talked about you..." he paused, "Never mind. I shouldn't talk about the lass's business."

It only made Nikolas more curious as to what Ennadda had said about him. She wasn't the type to fawn over anyone, so what was it exactly she told the troupe? If he'd a better relationship with Aldelm, he'll been told what exactly one does to show... romantic interest, but as it is, he was left guessing. She was kind to him, and shared many a cup with him in their chess games, but that could be what one does with friends in Camaira.

He would dwell on the matter more, if not for the regimented routine of his life washing the thoughts away. Everyday he would start off towards the courtyard, to do drills with the other trainees and hopeful would be knights. Then stewards office, where he would be given a job by the clerks there. The only part of his day that was exciting was his training with Gruiflo and his evenings with Faila's troupe and Ennadda, who would sometimes join them. Nikolas found himself picking up the bits and pieces of Camairan he'd forgotten, and new ones as well. It was a welcomed break from his newly assigned duty of collecting the Queen's dues and drilling new recruits. Maera still offered to help with the odd word now and then, but he was finally able to hold a short conversation with Gruiflo that wasn't about buying and selling things or how wonderful business was going. He thought that Ennadda would be upset that their chess games were at standstill until she showed up one day to watch him spar with Gruiflo using heavy oak sticks. 

"Vi havas tre bonan studenton." she said, when they both broke away from their friendly duel. 

"Li estas bona instruisto." said Nikolas, between pants for breath, he half muttered to himself, "Camairana batalado diferencas de Icfeld."

Gruiflo looked pleased at the compliment, "A teacher is good as student." he said. 

"I knew you two would get along." said Ennadda, pleased, "Sorry for intruding. I'll see myself out."

Maera watched her go with a mischievous look in her eyes. As they headed out, a half hour later, the girl said, "Will you come and see the show, Nikolas?" said Maera, "It'll be great! There's going to be a big crowd, and everytime we do well, mama buys us really really nice pies and cider."

"I'm to see Ennadda" said Nikolas, "But I'll come back, I'll see if she also wants to see the show, yes?"

"Please come!" said Maera, waving him off when they reached Faila's stage, "It's a Saint Day tomorrow, you don't have to worry about getting up for _dues_ and _drills_." seeing the hesitation, she added, "I'll save you and your sweetheart a seat!"

From the corner of his eye, Nikolas saw Gruiflo cover a smile with his hand. When he reached Harlot's End, and the building where Ennadda worked, he wasn't sure if the pounding in his heart was due to the running. She was in her usual corner when he opened the door, and gave him a friendly wave. 

"So, I see you and Gruiflo got along." she said, wrinkling her nose, "Oh, dear. When was the last time you washed that tunic?"

"Not since it was given to me." said Nikolas, wryly, "Can you spare some time tonight? I was invited to watch a show, and, well," he said in a rush, "I'd like you to come with me."

"Oh." said Ennadda, surprised, then she smiled, "I thought… of course! I'll call in a favor."

He fidgeted with the chess pieces on the board as she got up to talk to one of the seamstresses. The game on the board was a checkmate, and from the position of the pieces on the board, it was not played by Ennadda or himself. 

"Let us go then." said Ennadda, offering him her hand. 

He took it, feeling the calluses from scribing on her hand. "Let us go then." said Nikolas.

True to her word, Maera was waiting for them outside the cordoned off area. Behind her was, as she said, a significant gathering of Icfeld residents. Gruiflo was standing next to her, watching the coin box with a hawk's eye, though he did nod an acknowledgement at their arrival. 

"Good evening Miss Ennadda." said Maera, smiling toothily, "I hope you enjoy the show!"

"I've always loved seeing your troupe play." said Ennadda, "Thank you, Maera."

They sat themselves on cushioned seats near the stage as the curtains pulled back and Faila strolls up the stairs, harp in hand. 

"I present to you, my daughter's debut dance, _a phiùthrag's a phiuthar_!" announced the theater mistress to applauds from the crowd. 

She began to strum her harp, the song beautiful and melancholy. 

Little sister, sister

My sister, dear sister

Do you not pity

My sorrow this night

Ainnar and the actress, both wearing blue dresses danced across the stage, the background behind them a green forest. Unlike the fidgeting girl Nikolas saw earlier, Ainnar moved across the stage with grace and confidence that matched her fellow actress. 

"Are they… ", Nikolas said in hushed tones, fascinated, "Dancing on their toes?"

"Yes," whispered Ennadda, "It's the shoes, Llaisyian made."

On the stage, Ainnar was dancing hand in hand with her fellow actress playing the role of the older sister, Nikolas presumed, both smiling, before they pulled away as the costumed actors shambled up on the stage. The birds stepped towards Ainnar, dancing around her in a circle, and they raised her up above their heads. They then threw her into the air, eliciting gasps and claps from the audience, but instead of falling to the ground, Ainnar did several twirls in the air before being caught again by the actors. As they caught her in their arms however, they scattered, and there were gasps of surprise when she was no where to be seen. The audience's eyes then turned to the elder sister, who mimed surprised and sorrow, before running after the one of the costumed actors. 

I climbed up

Glani Artheth

The scenery behind them fell away to reveal a series of mountains. The sister returned, putting her hand in front of her eyes as if to shield them from the sun. She gasped when she saw Ainnar come back into the stage, and tried to make her way to her, but Ainnar danced away from her, before being pulled away by a costumed owl. The elder sister held her face in her hands before moving, in very slow graceful steps, off the stage. 

I climbed up

Carmarth

and Esdamlwch

with its golden meadows

The scenery fell away the second time to reveal, as the verse said, a painted golden meadow, where the actress again saw Ainnar and tried to catch up to her, and again, the girl danced just beyond her reach, and just a bit faster. Again, the sister could not catch up to Ainnar, and again, she was left alone on the stage. 

I didn’t find there

what I wanted,

A girl

with hair like ripen wheat.

This time, the scenery was a white winter forest, and the actress, instead of dancing up on the stage as she did the two times previously, instead made her way up in laborious movements, wearing over her head a scarf, and carrying a walking stick. This time Ainnar came to her in a white dress, twirling, as if in slow motion, holding out a hand towards her. They clasped hands, and, to the audience's delight, was lifted upwards off the stage before the curtains fell in what Nikolas thinks are elaborate series of hidden pulleys.

The resounding applaud and coins thrown on the stage was deafening. 

"Faila couldn't have planned a better debut performance." said Ennadda, clapping alongside Nikolas, "What a beautiful show."

"I've never seen dancing like that before." said Nikolas. 

He thought that would have been the end of their night until a voice cuts through the crowd's cheer. 

"Mistress Faila. You haven't paid your dues to be holding a play tonight."

Nikolas could recognize the voice anywhere as the upstart son of Lady Lione. If he didn't, the cloak with the garishly embroidered white dragon would have announced his coming anyway. The Knight walked through the crowd, his soldiers trailing behind him as if parting a sea, until he reached Faila who stood tall, harp in hand.  
  


"I have properly paid my dues, Sir Robertz." she said, smiling coldly, "You would find this to be true if you ask with the clerks."

"If you did," said Robertz, also smiling, "Then you would've put their signed document-" he pointed to the entrance, "before your crowd has entered." he glanced at the stage, "As such, you are stealing from the Queen and-"

Nikolas found himself standing up and speaking, before he could stop himself. "Sir Robertz," he said, "I would have thought you capable of reading the clerk's notices before making the effort to come here."

Sir Robertz turned his gaze to Nikolas, scoffing, "And you are?"

"I'm Nikolas. Sir." said Nikolas with bravado that he had never felt, "I haven't seen you assigned to collecting dues. Unless your lady mother assigned you the task this evening."

"Are you challenging me, for the coin, Nikolas?" said Robertz, spitting out his name like one spits out a rancid mouthful of beer, "You-" he gave Nikolas a disdainful look, "seem to need the coin, what is that even made of-" he gestured with his sword towards Nikolas's wooden practice one, "paper?" he laughed uproariously, echoed by his soldiers, "Is the _paper knight_ going to challenge me?"

Nikolas scowled, drawing his sword from his belt, "I am, Sir Robertz."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're on Nikolas's knighthood arc. I've edited and merged chapters together, which is why the chapter count has gone down. We'll go back to Jozin's POV after this and I can finally bring the story back to present day. I apologize for any tense mix ups, I'm notorious for randomly changing -ed and -ing. 
> 
> I've also made edits to earlier chapters, as I've firmly decided to write a matriarchal society, and as a result, earlier details are changed. So if you remembered a character as being a Lord, your eyes are not deceiving you. I've added an appendix, for reference, and the readers that clicked on my character index before this chapter will now see the name drop of "Paper Knight".
> 
> Speculations are welcomed!
> 
> Julie Fowlis's rendition of the song A phiuthrag’s a phiuthar is the name and inspiration for Ainnar's debut.


	16. Nikolas

" _Do Camairans duel?_ " Nikolas had asked in, what he'd been told was an Icfeldian accented Camairan, to Gruiflo one day after training. 

The Camairan frowned, and replied, " _If all Camairans were to duel to resolve every petty dispute there is, we won't last for very long._ "

" _But your Camairan art… it seems to be used in dueling, does it not? One cannot use this when fighting against an army."_

_"That is true."_ said Gruiflo, " _But have any army tried marching their way across the desert to us? You may respond, surely, they would use a naval assault, but the raging storms and jagged rocks around our ports are not conducive to such tactics. We have the occasional pirate ship, which is why this art is practiced."_

_"I see."_ said Nikolas, " _I still don't understand, all the techniques you've shown me never actually kills anyone."_

_"We are a compassionate people."_ said Gruiflo, holding out a hand to interrupt him, _"Wait. Compassion does not mean one simply stands there and gets robbed. We are compassionate… and assertive. What have you observed of our practices here?"_

_"You redirect the energy of the attacker so that they lose their balance and then pin them to the ground."_ said Nikolas. 

" _That is true. But once you have them down, there are many ways to hurt them. You can shatter a wrist, break a leg, crack a skull…. Yet I have never taught you these things, as pinning your opponent down only works effectively if your attacker still has full function of their body. Remember that pin where you were faced down and I had your arm behind your back and your wrist between my hands? It wouldn't have been so effective had I broken your wrist."_

" _How would you expect the pirate to listen to reason afterwards?"_ said Nikolas, frowning.

" _You cannot protect everyone from the consequences of their life choices. The Camairan arts allow the practitioner to redirect their attacker's energy elsewhere, and instead of killing them outright, perhaps give them a chance at reexamining their lives. In any case, we don't condone unnecessary killing in Camaira. The weather is already hot enough to murder without the energy of hotheaded youths to add to it."_

_"I see."_ said Nikolas. 

_"Attacking people, as a profession, is a dangerous business, Nikolas. One must always gamble that if one never comes across a more skilled individual, they are also as skilled and compassionate."_

Now if there's one thing Nikolas knows for certain about Sir Robertz, compassion was not something to be expected from the man. He was an Icfeld fighter through and through, if what Nikolas had seen of the man in the training fields. Robertz would come swinging with the fancy sword of his, aiming for his opponent's head, and if he missed, the man would sidestep and raise his arms high again for the second swing. A well practiced opening chess move, metaphorically speaking. Unfortunately for Robertz it was predictable, and easily countered with the same moves Gruiflo had taught him. 

Robertz jeered, "Go on, pull out your sword little knight, let us see what you can do."

Everyone, even the foreigners knew a duel when they saw one, and the crowd, wisely or not, cleared a circle. Nikolas reckons the more mercantile amongst them have started exchanging coins. 

"To first blood then." said Robertz, "If your sword's sharp that is."

Robertz unsheaths his sword in a dramatic flair, a confident smirk on his face. There was no blessing in heaven that would save his wooden sword from Robertz's. It would be his wits then, Nikolas decided, side stepping, as Gruiflo did, away from Robertz's first blow.

  
  
"Are you a coward?" mocked Robertz, "Take," he swung left, "up," swung to the right, "your sword-" an upwards blow, and there it was. 

Nikolas side steps the sword with ease, grabbing Robertz's sword hand in his and cold metal in the other. He thinks he hears a sound of surprise from the other man as his balance was broken, falling with a thud to the ground. He pulls Robertz's arm upwards, twisting his wrist, and puts a firm knee on his back. The knight's grip on his sword trembles, and Nikolas pulls the sword out of his hand in a smooth motion, cutting the man's palm ceremonially. 

"Does the paper dragon yield to the paper knight?" said Nikolas. 

Underneath him Robertz snarls angrily, and from the leftmost corner of his eye, he sees Jaufre start strumming his lute. To his great mortification, the bard starts singing.

And spoke the silver dragon, in search for shiny treasure,

Would that Knight come walking by to add to my great pleasure.

And as the words were spoken, a paper knight comes by

Says he, I'll take you at your word, and I'll send you flying high.

Faila, ever the theater mistress, began clapping to the tune, "Go on, Jaufre, what comes next?" says the woman, to excited laughter and claps from the crowd.

"Get off me!" snapped Robertz, "You'll pay for this!"

He shakes off Nikolas's hand to pull him up, yanking his sword from Nikolas's hands. "You..."

"Go on." said Nikolas, "Leave the people be, they've already paid their fee."

The knight scowls, and snarls at the soldiers hesitantly waiting for his instructions, "Come on, we're done here."

No one dared throw a stone or vegetable at their retreating backs, but a cheer broke out when Jaufre started on a new stanza. 

Fly off, my gallant dragon! When must I come again?

Or would you care for a paper knight to chase you to your den? 

And when your greed's greatest, let someone call my name,

A paper knight for a paper dragon makes a fair game!

"Perhaps you should get a better sword." said Ennadda dryly, approaching him with an appraising eye, "That knight seems the sort retaliate by springing a trap on you in an alley."

"Maybe." said Nikolas, "But he'll have to admit to his mother he lost, first."

Griuflo looked contemplative when he saw Nikolas the next day, and instead of starting the stretches, he directed Nikolas to sit down. It was just him and Nikolas in the courtyard that day, and the older man sighed deeply before asking, 

" _Why do you play chess, Nikolas?"_

" _It's a good game."_ said Nikolas, " _I… like playing with people."_

_"I see._ " said Gruiflo, " _Is that how you see my lessons with you? Friendly sparring?"_

It wasn't merely a question. It was a test, and Nikolas had the sinking feeling that if he answered wrong, it would be the end of their lessons. 

" _Yes and no._ " said Nikolas, " _I liked learning about Camaira, and your Teacher's-_ " he gestured towards the painted picture, _"art."_

" _There are some who see the world as a chessboard and the people there as pieces._ " said Gruiflo, " _This is not the Camairan way."_ he gave Nikolas a hard stare, _"I took Ennadda at her word of your character, and after yesterday… I can see her words are true. You seem to have the makings of a Peacemaker, though may I ask, what do you know of being one?"_

_"It… is very straightforward is it not?"_ said Nikolas, _"It is one who makes peace."_

_"That is the Icfeldian definition of the word, though this is both a word and a title in Camaira. The Teacher was one of Camaira's peacemakers after the Great War, and this title is given to anyone who masters his art. Ask any child learning the Camairan arts and they will say its teachings promote non-violence, that is to say, pacifism and peacemaking. But ask the acolytes and even some older practitioners about the deeper truth of peacemaking and few can give you its truth - one cannot make peace if one cannot make the choice between violence and non violence. Of course, you will have the occasional practitioner who claim they have already chosen to be pacifists prior to learning the Camairan arts, so there is no need for them to learn the power of destruction. But that only shows their misunderstanding of a warrior's true mind and their own rationalization to avoid dedication. To become a Peacemaker and true pacifist you must have the ability to destroy your enemy, yet cast this choice aside, and the unwavering belief to fight and die for your own principles- not anyone else's. Only when your spirit have been tempered and your fears confronted can you call yourself a true Peacemaker."_

" _I'm just one man in the Queen's army._ " said Nikolas, _"How can I be a Peacemaker? I don't even have privy to her court._ "

Gruiflo shakes his head in amusement at this. " _You know she also mentions you are a bit obtuse. I suppose that would disappear with age… In any case, there's nothing much more I can teach you. That is all I know of the art. And before you say more- unfortunately it would seem the winds are taking me elsewhere."_

_"You are leaving?"_ said Nikolas, an odd twisting feeling in his throat. " _But I thought you came with Faila and her troupe?_ "

" _And they were generous and welcoming._ " said Gruiflo, " _But I have other matters to attend to. It was a pleasure training with you Nikolas."_ He turns around briefly, reaching behind him to take the picture. " _I didn't come to Icfeld with much, except this. Consider it a gift, from your friend Gruiflo."_

_"Thank you."_ said Nikolas taking the picture into his hand, and remembering the Camairan farewell, " _Until the wind sends you my way."_

They bowed, and Nikolas made his way back to Ennadda's little room by Harlot's End, feeling melancholy. He hadn't expected a good bye. 

"Such melodrama," Ennadda muttered, when Nikolas explained why he'd come to her place earlier than usual, her hands busy pouring him a cup of tea, "I saw your friend Ardich earlier, he told me Lady Laberts was asking for you. But going back to Gruiflo, I guess he must really love one of those Icfeld epics-" she throws her head back, left hand to her forehead, "Oh, I as your old and wise mentor, must give you such wise and benevolent parting words to you, my dear student." she rolls her eyes, "He could've just said, I don't like violence, but would do it for what I believe in. Speeches, how mannish. And in anycase, you can't be a pacifist in Icfeld, you'll find it easier to be a saint!" She gave him a once over, wrinkling her nose "I hate to ask, but, have you considered making friends with a shave and a bath?"

"The baths are usually closed when I'm done for the day." said Nikolas, feebly, and Ennadda shakes her head in disapproval. 

"Why don't you take one now?" she offered, pointing to the small wash closet next to her room, "Between the two of us, you need it more." she gave his clothes a disapproving look, "And perhaps you'd like some fresh clothes as well." she paused, "If you don't have a razor I can lend you one."

"I have one," said Nikolas, "and yes, I do use it!" he added defensively when she gave him a skeptical look. 

She tossed him a towel and what felt like a noble man's set of clothing before the wash closet door closed. Nikolas blinked. It was a small wash closet, that was certain, but Ennadda had somehow managed to obtain a circular mirror which she'd hung on the wall along with various plants. They looked odd to Nikolas's eyes, too purple and pink, he was no botanist, but even he could tell they were not native plants to Icfeld. The sweet scent in the room must have come from them then, he couldn't see any perfume bottles. He pulled off his clothes, tossing them to the side, before dipping a hand into the tub. The bathtub was steaming when he got in it, and as he began to scrub, the water began to turn murky. 

He winced at his reflection in the mirror when he stepped out. Merchants weren't known for keeping beards, the more elaborate styles are reserved for nobles, but what he had on his face was more wild woodsman fresh from the hunt than deliberately messy. After a few moments' consideration he took his razor and began shaving it all off, catching the hairs in one of the spare newspaper Ennadda had placed by the small mirror. He could appreciate the clothes she's given him, they were certainly well made and would definitely last much longer that what he wore when he first came to Icfeld. They reminded him of the clothes he'd seen his father wore once or twice, but Alchelm wasn't known for peacocking. 

Ennadda gave him an appraising look, and a low whistle. "You do clean up nicely."

"Do I?" he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I suppose I do?"

"Can I ask you something?" said Ennadda, and when he nodded, "Are you interested in women? Or are you not?" she paused, looking contemplative, "Or do you not hold interest in sex at all?"

"Sorry?" he stammered, confused. 

"Well, you have been accompanying your friends to the seamstresses yet you've never needed their services. I thought you weren't the type to like women, until Gruiflo mentioned you didn't take interest in the actors at Dusk End either. I would think that your blush now means you are interested in the idea. Unless I'm wrong."

"I… it's not proper." muttered Nikolas, "You're supposed to court and everything. Otherwise it feels… is… wrong." though as he spoke the words, it sounded more like Alchelm's words than his own. 

"Oh, I see." said Ennadda, "A proper courting is it?" she grinned, "Perhaps, we should go about courting your way then. Instead of tea and inviting you to my rooms." she gestured to the chess set he now realized was on her bed, "Why don't we play and-" she winked, "with every piece one of us lose, how about the other suggests a piece of clothing to take off? And seeing as we've both got our shoes off, we're starting on even grounds." 

"I just put mine-" Nikolas snapped his mouth shut, "You were, wait, are interested in me?"

"When a lady invites you into her rooms, of course she's interested." said Ennadda, "Doubly so if she's Camairan and offers you tea. Though I don't take mint tea with milk and chocolate or whatever abomination you put in yours."

"It tastes better that way." Nikolas protested, before sitting down on the bed with her. "Ladies first?" he suggested. 

He thinks she lost her first pawn on purpose, and when he suggested undoing her hair, she nearly fell off the bed laughing. "Of course, dear Nikolas is so unimaginative!" she giggles, "Out of all the things to see, you want to see my hair down?"

"Well, yes?" said Nikolas, "The rules says I could suggest anything."

"Well, you better not ask me to remove my stockings or some other banal article next." said Ennadda, pulling off her headscarf to reveal a dark head of curls, "What is your next move then, Nikolas?"

He would like to think he deliberately lost, so he would see, when it was her turn, what she pointed to. She gestured towards his coat with his pawn. "And you call me unimaginative?" said Nikolas. 

"Your undershirt doesn't hide much." said Ennadda, with a cheeky grin "I picked it on purpose."

When her bishop fell to his knight, he indicated to her petticoat, "You know, this is quite unfair, you are wearing too many layers compared to me."

"Perhaps, you should win more." offered Ennadda, as she untied her petticoat and tossed it to the floor. 

"I will, then." said Nikolas. 

He was sorely mistaken when she took his knight. "Go on then," said Ennadda, "Off with your shirt." when he did so, she gave him a smirk, "Maybe that's why you wear out all your clothes. They-" she poked at his abdomen, "are sharp enough to cut any thread." He swallowed when she ran her hand up his chest and cupped his mother's necklace. "Was this always under your shirt?"

"Yes?" said Nikolas, heart pounding. Ennadda smelled like her mint tea and that strange flower hanging in her washroom. "It's my mother's. Why do you ask?"

"You didn't look the sentimental type." said Ennadda, she huffed, "You know, this is taking too long. I call a change in the rules. The loser takes off two pieces."

"You have me at a disadvantage, women typically wear more layers."

"We've already seen your chess mastery, Nikolas, I want to see something else," she said as she took one of his knights. "Remove your belt." she paused, "I'm feeling generous, if your face gets any redder I'll boil a pot over it."

Her next move was deliberately bad, there was no denying it, and she smirked when he gestured towards her stockings and, after some hesitation her stays. 

"Well, getting adventurous now, aren't we?" she said, settling back to bed in just her shift. Her Camairan knife, Nikolas noticed, was concealed under her stays, and was reverently placed on her bed table. 

He scowled, glancing at the board. Usually, he would have at least three moves in advance by now, but this time.. Well.. this time all he could think of was how nice she smelled and what her lips would feel like against his. Well, if he was going to lose anyway… he moved his bishop deliberately in the way of her rook, and she raised an eyebrow at this move. 

"Should we end this game, and move on to… other activities?" said Ennadda, holding his bishop in a way the Church would consider a mild heresy. "Or do you want to finish first?"

Nikolas raised an eyebrow, and feigned innocence, curious as to her reaction, "Whatever do you mean?"

"Oh, you know, the little death, kicking the beam, breaking one's arrow, cracking a marble, that sort of thing." she laughed, "Relax, Nikolas, we're having fun, not dueling or whatever you soldiers like to do-"

She moves towards him, pushing him down on the bed, and then they're kissing. As if from far away, hears the clunk of the chess board falling on the wooden floor and the clitter clack of the chess pieces. Ennadda pulls off her shift, and directs his hands onto her now bare breasts, pulling at the ties on his breeches with practiced hands. She had a lovely figure, Nikolas thinks, one hand tracing the flower tattoo on her hip. 

"Is this the same flower in your washroom?"

"Yes." she said, running her hands over his naked chest, over his nipples and drawing a full body shiver from him, "The Camairan iris. How would you like to do this?"

"I… well… I leave it in your hands."

"Alright, I'll take the reins." she said, with a smirk, and kissed him again, pulling herself up on top of him. 

He gasps when she reaches down to take his cock into her hand, gently directing it towards her as she sank down into him. 

"Oh Go-" he hissed.

"I'd say the Goddess approves." said Ennadda, as she rode him, "Come, she'll forgive you for ignoring her for a moment- you should put your hands to use," she reached for his hand and placed it down to where she was wet and hot, "Should I tell you what to do?"

He answered by finding that spot and moving his fingers, making her gasp and arched her back.

Sometimes Ardich did give good advice. She responded by riding him harder, clenching hard and hot around his cock. Nikolas doesn't last long after that, feeling himself shudder as he came hard, pulling her close to him and kissing her. He thinks he knows now why Ardich and the others went to the seamstresses so often. This was so much better than his hand. Ennadda rolls off him, letting out a happy sigh. 

“We should have done this ages ago,” Ennadda muttered, “Next time a woman invites you to her room, and offers you tea, take her up on her offer, won't you?

She opens her bed table and pulls out a small vial which she downed in one swallow.

"Can I ask," said Nikolas, "Why you said it wasn't possible to be a pacifist in Icfeld?"

"You are not the best at bedroom talk are you?" said Ennadda wryly, "Icfeld has always been warlike, as much as they'd accuse others of the same. It is tradition, for an Icfeld Queen to wage war at least once in her lifetime. Your Queen is too young to do so, but she will in time. Some say it echoes Icfeld's barbaric history, as it is rumored in Camaira that the Great War was caused by a wizard from Icfeld." she shook her head, "I don't think it is the case. Great Wars are only great so long as everyside engages in it, and Camaira's hands are not as bloodless as many of my kin would like to think."

"How do you know these things?" said Nikolas, frowning, "The Great War is only spoken of by the High Priestress." he hesitated, recalling an earlier conversation, "Is it what you said, that this is kept from the people as a means of control?"

"In this case no." said Ennadda, "I think it is better no one knows exactly how the wizard went about enacting the Great War, all things considered." 

"What do you mean?" said Nikolas, "He or she probably used magic, eventually someone would be able to figure it out."

"Not if you stop them." said Ennadda, "Why else would the heads of these wizarding schools go looking for children with magical capability and pay lavishly for their education?" she taps her head, "You won't have a catastrophic war if you educate children that it is unethical use magic in such pursuits. And if your pupil refuses to listen to such sage advice, well… there are other ways. It's why in the stories you have a Queen or King counseled in their wars and other matters by a wise wizard but now you won't see wizards or witches hanging about the royal courts. It's become taboo."

"I was never a fan of those stories." said Nikolas, "I've never thought about it, but that makes sense." he pauses, "Then what of witches? They don't have academies do they?"

"No," said Ennadda, "And if I'm being honest, I don't know how witches are taught. They tend to not announce their presence so loudly as wizards. Perhaps it is because they were nearly wiped out during the Great War."

"You'd think they would get along." said Nikolas, "Wizards and witches, don't they all use magic?"

"That's the same as saying, oh, swans and doves are the same species because they are white and have wings." said Ennadda, "Wizards and witches are quite different. I've been explained, and well, take this with some skepticism, it has been years since I last talked to that witch. She was working as a baker you see, and she explained it as, witches would bake based on instinct and experience while wizards would follow a recipe even if their gut tells them they've added one too many cups of baking powder." 

"That… makes some sense." said Nikolas, "My brother's training to be wizard, and he's always gone on and on about his books and what's written in them."

"Sounds like a wizard." agreed Ennadda, "Would you like to stay for the night?"

"Why?" Nikolas said, stupidly, "Oh. You would like to-" he motioned towards the bed and she rolled her eyes.

"Perhaps you should listen to more of Ardich's wild tales of seduction." said Ennadda, laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to write porn with plot, and Nikolas's arc is taking way too long, but I just had to write his background before I go back to the main plotline.


	17. Nikolas

The rest of the night was a blur, and they were jolted awake by the sound of a workbell. 

"I should go." said Nikolas, extracting himself from Ennadda's arms, "Can't keep Lady Laberts waiting."

She stopped him from putting on the customary uniform. "You should wear the nobleman's clothes. But maybe leave the coat here." said Ennadda, and at his frown, continued, "You're meeting a noble woman, not Faila at Dusk End."

Ennadda gave him a fond smile when he made to leave, " _Until the wind sends you my way, Nikolas._ "

" _Until the wind sends you my way_." he replied, reflexively. 

It was only later would he wonder on her parting words to him, at the time his mind was fixed running to Lady Labert's office before the Lady had any chance to be irritated at his tardiness. As expected, Lady Laberts was waiting for him when he opened the door, panting. 

"I suppose it was wise of me to tell Ardich an earlier time." said Lady Laberts, looking up from a stack of papers on her desk, "The Queen asked to see you." she gave him an appraising look, "At least you're decently dressed. Come."

"I'm sorry, my lady, did you say, the Queen?" stammered Nikolas. 

"I did." said Lady Laberts, "Did I stutter?" 

She looked more irritated than usual, if that was possible, shuffling the papers on her desk before getting up and walking towards Nikolas, "How was Elis, when you met him last?"

"Last?" Nikolas frowned. Last seemed like months ago, though Nikolas knew it to be only two weeks, he had been more interested in Gruiflo's classes and Faila's troupe than the letters Elis sent to Lady Laberts. "He greeted me, and gave me a letter to send to you, my lady." 

"I see." said Lady Laberts, then more to herself than him, "The boy's got it in his head that he is entitled to things."

Nikolas half wondered what she meant, from the time he'd spent with Elis, the younger man was more meek and self chastising than ambitious. But, from what gossip he'd heard, the Queen had praised Lady Laberts's work, so perhaps, Elis did want a promotion after all. Or at the very least, acknowledgment from his mother. He doubts Elis would ever get either, it would be easier for one to move a city. 

"Come then," said Lady Laberts, "Let's not keep her Highness waiting."

"Of course not, my lady." said Nikolas.

It wasn't forbidden to enter the palace, there was no law preventing, say, a peasant from laying out his grievances to the Queen. The peasant would not be able to make it to her throne room, however, due to all the nobles and their knights that stood in the way. They would have scoffed at his uniform if he'd come here before, but now, with Lady Laberts accompanying him, and the nobles' clothes Ennadda gave him, the reception was of fawning flattery. When the heavy oak doors opened to let them inside, he tried very hard not to gape at what it revealed. Tapestries woven with gold thread, showing the histories of Icfeld and the Queens that sat on its throne, all lit with silver lanterns. They might as well have been golden-silver, for all he knew of metal work. 

Even the floor of the corridor they walked down upon was covered in gold threaded carpet. Lady Laberts stopped in front of the door at its end and motioned for the guards outside to announce their presence. When he stepped back outside and gestured them in, Nikolas swallowed nervously. 

The Queen was sitting on her throne, and standing next to her was Lady Lione. He fell to one knee in the customary bow, while Lady Laberts gave a short one, only dipping her head. 

"Good morning, Nikolas." said the Queen cheerily, her oversized golden crown resting on her head. "And Lady Laberts, thank you for the prompt reply. I was about to have my soldiers bring him in myself." she stood up and stepped down from her throne, "I was speaking to Lady Lione, and we've come to the conclusion that it is best for her son to move elsewhere." she gave a glance to Lady Lione, who nodded, "Stewardship seems more to be of his liking." she gestured for Nikolas to stand up, "Lady Lione suggested someone take his place, and well, seeing as how popular a certain Paper Knight has been of late, I could not help but ask Lady Laberts who best to replace Sir Robertz."

Beside him, from the corner of his eye, Nikolas saw Lady Laberts hid a smile. 

"Come forward, Nikolas." said the Queen, holding out in her hand the pin that all Icfeld knights wore, she smiled, "It is fitting is it not? My namesake Elient had her knight Nikolas by her side. Now perhaps I will as well. If you prove yourself." here she paused, "And consort with the right people."

In hindsight, the Queen's last sentence would have unsettled him, but Nikolas's head was filled with an excited happiness he did not feel since leaving his father's house. 

"Do you know the oath taken by Icfeld knights, Nikolas?" said Lady Laberts. 

"Of.. of course, my lady." said Nikolas. 

"Then recite it." said Lady Laberts, "And we will bear witness."

Nikolas swallowed, and said, placing his hand to his heart, where he could feel the warmth of his mother's necklace, "In words and deed I follow my Queen, in the Goddess's name, this I swear."

The verse was longer, the older version was so long, the recruits were told, that it was not used anymore. 

"Well said, Sir Nikolas." said the Queen, stepping forward to fasten the pin to his coat. "I suppose you would like to celebrate now, you have my permission to leave. Lady Laberts, I have a matter to discuss with you."

Nikolas expected Lady Lione to scowl at him, but the older woman's face was blank, showing only courtly politeness. He nearly jumped when the doors to the throne room opened again, and the guard announced the presence of a bard. 

"I'll take my leave, then, my Queen." said Nikolas, and he was waved away by her, her attention now on Lady Laberts and Lady Lione. 

As Nikolas left the room, he saw Jaufre casually scrolling in. The bard gave his disbelieving face a wink before the doors closed. He tried very hard not to groan when the chords of the Paper Knight started playing. 

But there was more important matters, he had to tell Ennadda of the news. Did she know? Was that why she told him to wear the nobleman's clothes? He nearly flew past the streets, running headlong towards Harlot's Chase. There was no answer when he knocked on the door or called, and he hesitated before turning the knob. 

"Ennadda?"

It was as if she left for her work at the seamstresses. Her bedding was folded, the room clean and tidy. But something was off, and he went into the washroom, where the plants hanging only just yesterday were gone. The chess pieces lay scattered on the floor, and he hesitated before picking them up and tossing them onto the bed. He breathed in deeply, reaching to open the bed table drawers. They were all empty of her hairpins and assorted odds and ends. Heart thumping, he pulled out the drawer, looking for the place where he kept the book. It was gone. In its place was a charcoal drawing of the two of them smiling at each other at Ainnar's debut. He swallowed, flipping over the picture revealed handwriting, Ennadda's handwriting, all written in block capitals. 

PLEASE FORGIVE ME. THE WINDS HAVE TAKEN ME ELSEWHERE SOONER. 

For several moments his mind buzzed in a confusion, like a torrent of bees unleashed into his head. She didn't tell him earlier. Did she not trust him? Did Gruiflo not trust him? Was both their friendships falsehoods? And his book. Well, it was to be a gift to her, so it wasn't anger he felt at its lost. Why did she not trust him?

His mind ran back to the earlier conversation with the Queen, and froze. She mentioned consorting with the right people. Was Gruiflo and Ennadda arrested? Faila and her troupe? 

Taking calming breaths, he folded the paper and tucked it into his shirt. Perhaps he could later squeeze it into his mother's locket for safekeeping. He picked up the chess pieces lying on the ground and placed them back into their wooden chessboard box, shutting the copper hinges. He walked out of Ennadda's room, a placid look on his face, box in hand, and made his way back to the barracks. 

Ardich was waiting for him outside his rooms when he arrived. The blond made a hushing gesture with his pointer finger, and motioned for Nikolas to enter his room and close the door. 

"You were promoted?" said Ardich, incredulously, staring at the pin, before shaking his head, "Never mind that, I don't know if you know, but, there's new orders from the Church."

"Sorry?" said Nikolas.

"Yes, we all know you prefer to pray in private." said Ardich, "But you best show up to Church every so often now." Ardich lowered his voice, "It's a heresy to interpret the texts yourself."

"Wait, when?" said Nikolas.

"Just now." said Ardich, "The High Priestess proclaimed it. It's been brewing and brewing for months, but well… you were busy. And let me finish," he said when Nikolas opened his mouth, "I don't care what you think of the Church, or who Ennadda was, my father's Camairan, you know, so it's not strange at all to me, whatever you two may have talked about. But you should keep that to yourself. You don't want the ire the Church on you, now that you're a knight and all and… well… seems like war is on the horizon. I expected any Camairan would have left for home by now," he sighed deeply, running a hand down his face, "Heresy is always a good war cry."

Ennadda's words came back to him, now sharp and biting, " _And in any case, you can't be a pacifist in Icfeld, you'll find it easier to be a saint... it is tradition for an Icfeld Queen to wage war at least once..."_. 

Nikolas bite back a laugh. What an incredible jest the Goddess must be making of his life. She had bought two people into his life whose morals were now being questioned by the very same people who said to be her mouth on earth. Perhaps his mother shouldn't have named him Nikolas then, that was the start of it all. A knight serving a Queen who then left her to become a saint, that was his namesake. 

Perhaps the Goddess wanted to challenge him to a chess game, by making a chessboard out of his life. Well, in that case, Nikolas was quite an adept chess player, and Her challenge was accepted. _I'll be a saint then._

He must've spoken those words out loud, because Ardich gave him a questioning look. 

"Are you alright, Nikolas?"

"No. No I'm not." Nikolas admitted. 

"You best not confess that at Church." said Ardich, chuckling "They might think you want to join their ranks."

"Oh, I don't think they will." said Nikolas, "I don't think they will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, we're done with Nikolas's flashbacks. One more series of Jozin flashbacks and we're swinging back to the present.


	18. Jozin

Preta was waited until they were out of earshot before he asked, with some astonishment, "Master Thaldi's willing to go against your Lord father?"

"It would seem so." said Jozin, feeling uneasy.

"Will you take his offer?" said Preta.

"We'll see." said Jozin.

"Maybe he's right?" suggested Preta, "Icfeldians recruit every man they can, and you'll more likely find someone suitable when they come marching to Skapina."

"Hm." said Jozin, noncommittally.

"Perhaps I can have my mother look them over, for you, when they come?" said Preta, "Most people don't blink twice when they see a Cook."

"Maybe." said Jozin, distracted, "That sounds like a good idea."

Sometimes he forgot that Preta was the Cook's son. Warada always made her presence known when she entered the room, offering advice here and there like the sweetcakes she made, while Preta was more retiring and quiet, deferring to others, notably Surio. Out of all the elder women in Skapina, Jozin thinks she was the one whose company he was in the most. It wasn't as if Jozin went out of his way to avoid the rectoresses or mistresses of Skapina. He felt uncomfortable in their midst, like a parrot singing amongst nightingales. A few of them had courted his father in the attempt to become the new Lady Skapina, or, even worst, provide a motherly influence to him. His father had rejected all proposals, which was praised by, ironies upon ironies, the Icfeld Church. Before everyone knew him as a carrier, he thinks most of them only looked at him as a potential groom for their daughters. But when it was clear he would eventually take on the title of Lady Skapina, their attitudes shifted, from the cold indifference of a winter wind to a more welcoming summer breeze. He was invited to their circles, a coming of age ceremony here, a birthing ceremony there. Jozin only ever went to one birthing ceremony before the politely declining all future invitations. There were titters of course, something along the lines of, "oh, Jozin is so mannish, can't stand the talk of blood and pain," and some of them afterwards had suggested him taking their daughters as his maids, "to help him with the gentlewoman arts". None of their daughters stayed long, he couldn't stand their prodding and suggestions on what he ought to do and wear, and say, and do, and most of all, their insistence on certain rituals that must be done every month.

For him the monthly bleeding only meant enduring pain and swallowing disgust for four or five days, but from what his former maids had told him, it was a blessing, a cause for celebration and indulgence. If it was a blessing the Goddess had a twisted sense of humor. Rana and Gunnla never questioned his opinions on the matter, which was why they weren't dismissed, though Jozin suspects that they, like most of the inhabitants of Skapina, thought any oddities in his behavior or dress was due to him not having a motherly figure. He'd heard the fair share of explanations, ranging from a shrug of "That's Jozin." from those closest to him, a maternal concern of "Tsk, poor boy needs motherly guidance." from the women in Skapina, and the more derisive gossiper's talk that, "Children raised by men never turn out right." 

If he was a proper Lady, he would have gathered to him all his bosom friends and they would have tittered and chattered. They'll give him advice on what he should prepare for the birth and who he should have with him and what he should eat and the list would go on and on. If his mother was alive… he banished the thought. It was Skapina tradition to have the father present as well, though this was frowned upon by proper Icfedians. At the very least, the expectant mother was supposed to see a midwife. He had done none of it, and the darker whispers in his mind whispers that he wanted to self sabotage the pregnancy. The very idea of it had disgusted him, when he first realized he was capable of it. He wasn't raised to be a woman, nor to take on the roles of one.

Surio was the one that suggested the idea. "A child legitimates a Tastow marriage." he had said, "And well, wouldn't it be great to finally have them under Skapina control? You know it would be a good idea." Jozin had wanted to argue that theirs was a Skapinian marriage, but he knew it was futile, for years Surio had fixated on becoming Chief amongst the Tastows. Surio had celebrated when he felt the first flutterings of the child Jozin carried, while all Jozin felt was a deep dread. He had smiled though, when Surio asked him how he felt about starting a family. He thinks the lie was eating him inside as he went with Surio and his father to the warfront. Or it could be the pregnancy, it felt unnatural at best of times, and revolting at the worst. He wondered if any expectant mothers confessed these feelings to her group of friends. Probably not, every child was a blessing, and it was heresy to consider that it was not. There was, of course, ways to end a pregnancy, but he doubts that it would take now, considering he was much further along than what Rana suspected when she offered him the opportunity.

"Lady Skapina?" said Preta, gently nudging him from his thoughts with a hand on his arm, pointing, "Seems like someone's wanting your attention."

Jozin blinked at the goose that seemingly materialized in front of them, though he suspects that the goose was following long before Preta pointed it out. She had the oddly colored eyes of all witch familiars, unlike the normal black of common geese, hers was blue. The goose honked angrily at him, pulling an envelope from the satchel around her middle. Preta brightened, "Oh my, is it the Winter festival announcement?"

"It looks to be." said Jozin, pulling open the envelope to reveal the curly script of the Head Siren, "Seems like the Coven of Sirens wants to lead the event this year."

"The last time they've hosted was when I was two." said Preta, "Do you remember the giant swimming beasts, whales or some sort, that was conjured?"

"No." said Jozin.

Preta looked disappointed, but continued, "You could ask for the Coven's Blessing." he said, "Once the news gets around, I'm sure they'll be at least twenty or so mother wanting their babies blessed."

"I'll think about it." said Jozin.

"I'm sorry." said Preta, "Did I overstep? I shouldn't have. I mean, it is between the parents to do-" he stopped, "Sorry, sorry, I got carried away... I'm very much looking forward to seeing the festival."

"Just for a moment you sound like Dremuk." said Jozin wryly, "Though Dremuk was never fond of these festivals." he looked down at the goose, "Have a coin for your trouble." he said, offering the silver piece to the goose, who honked appreciatively, and to both of their faint horror, swallowed the coin.

The goose flapped her wings, taking a short run before flying off over the horizon. They walked back in silence, Preta opening the doors to the manor as they reached it. Jozin wasn't surprised to find Valdi and the rest of Surio, no, they were his men now, sitting around the long dining table. The archers looked well rested, most of them talking amongst themselves, though they all inclined their heads in acknowledgement as he walked past. Valdi had tamed his beard and looked well rested for the first time in months.

"What news of our Master Thaldi, Lady Skapina?" said Valdi, when he saw them.

Jozin took a seat at the head of the long table and sighed deeply. "He disagreed with my father's decision. Says he'll rather I marry whoever's following us here. Anyone of them would do, he said."

"Hm." said Valdi, "Well, what do you make of the news, Lady Skapina?"

"It would be… difficult." said Jozin, carefully, "I don't know how I would feel about marrying a man who may or may not have killed-" he gritted his teeth, "Surio."

"I understand your position, Lady Skapina." said Valdi, "But perhaps you should think on it."

"Sorry?" said Jozin, staring at Valdi, "Why would I?"

The table had gone silence.

"If I had a daughter, or a carrier son, I would not dream of suggesting they marry your father's adopted sons, Lady Skapina." said Valdi, "They would not treat-" he motioned towards Jozin's stomach, "any child that is not theirs kindly."

"Master Thaldi said the same." muttered Jozin.

"The old codger's right." said Valdi.

"Of course he is." said Jozin, "But the army hasn't arrived now, have they? There's no need to rush on things. In any case, we have preparations to make for this-" he pulled out the envelope, showing the Head Siren's letter to the group.

The table exploded in excited chatter.

"Oh, silent, you all." snapped Valdi, irritably, "You've all been to a festival, no need to get your breeches in a twist." he looked at Jozin, "What would you have us prepare then? The stage? They are Sirens, and I presume they will bring their own caravans and such."

"Perhaps the marketplace should be cleared up." said Jozin, "And someone should tell the Mistress at the Inn she will have more customers than she normally would."

"I'll do that!" offered Dremuk, to eyerolls and groans from his fellow archers.

"You should also inform the Harvesting Mistress that she ought to prepare more mushrooms for the Sirens as well." said Jozin.

"That should keep everyone busy for a good while. Considering all the merchanting families would want to prepare an act. And I suppose, some might want to debut their daughters as well." said Valdi, tracing the swirling calligraphy of the letter, "Would that be all then, Lady Skapina?"

"I'll write up a list of what ought to be done." said Jozin, "And give it to you tomorrow."

"Of course, Lady Skapina." said Valdi, "We'll get on with clearing room for the Sirens." he turned to the archers, "Well, you heard me, get on with it!"

When everyone went off to the underground village, carrying news of the festival, Jozin heaved a sigh and stood up, gripping the back chair until his knuckles turned white. He felt the familiar bile rising in his throat and swallowed harshly, forcing it down. Preta looked concerned, "Is your stomach troubling you? Would you like anything particular from the kitchens? My mother can make that apple pie again, well, I can ask what she's got in her cellar."

"No need." said Jozin, "I don't… well… you saw with Rana, I don't have much of an appetite these days."

"I'll ask her to make one soon then." said Preta, hovering uncertainly over Jozin until he was waved off.

"I'm fine." said Jozin, "I'll tell you if I need help."

That was a lie, but Preta didn't need to know that. Rana and Gunnla had opened his bedroom window, airing out the room in his absence, though Jozin could smell the dried lavender Rana had placed in a vase on his desk. They were busy rearranging his things around the room and sweeping so he carefully stepped around the dust piles to his desk. When he told them of the festival, from his seat at the writing desk, Rana gave a small squeal of excitement.

"Oh, the Sirens!" she said, "I've never seen a festival where they lead."

"It's not as exciting as you think it." said Jozin, "All festivals are the same, once you've seen enough of them," and she rolled her eyes at this statement.

"What do you think, Gunnla?" said Rana.

Gunnla frowned thoughtfully, running a hand through her barely tamed hair, "I hope they have the tug-o-fire." said the brawny girl, "I didn't take part last time 'cause I was wearing my best dress and them ashes would ruin it, but I will this year."

"It's Sirens, Gunnla, they would more likely have the tug-o-water." giggles Rana.

Gunnla frowned at this statement, but shrugged, and said, "It's all the same to me, I will take part anyway. Oh, and, m'lord, I was speaking to my mama, and she was asking," Gunnla looked serious, "Who you would have for your midwife? Most of the expectant mothers in Skapina had already asked the midwives, you see and-"

"I'll trust you to find someone for me." said Jozin, waving a hand in the air, distracted by the list he was drafting of things he needed to do - it was customary for the Lady Skapina to prepare a song spell - and things that needed to be done, "Find someone who hadn't killed anyone. That shouldn't be too hard."

He should have remembered how literal Gunnla took orders sometimes, and as much as he trusted her, Jozin would later deeply regret not asking any of the Mistresses, Rectoresses or even Warada to call a midwife on his behalf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I added a new tag to the work, and well, I'm going to try my hand at writing an angsty scene. Feel free to interpret what can go wrong with telling someone to find a midwife "who hadn't killed anyone."


	19. Jozin

He wanted to focus on what he should prepare for the upcoming festival but he couldn't bring himself to focus. He knew, rationally, he couldn't keep on denying the reality of his pregnancy. The problem with growing up as the only carrier in Skapina was that there was no real reference to him what he ought to expect. The celebration and coming of age parties were hosted by the women of Skapina for their daughters when they first bled was not thrown for him. "You aren't a _girl_ ", his father had reminded him. So it was just a regular day for him, except, of course, the belt and folded cloths he wore underneath his clothes to catch the bleeding that was procured for him. After Milla left he was hesitant to make friends with the girls in Skapina, and they him, unless they eyed him as a potential spouse. There was no one he could talk to about his, what should he call it, woman problems? He should have expected the same "you're on your own, handle it yourself", response to his pregnancy. Was he supposed to look rotund? Or was it the odd biology of carriers that they carried children differently? Was he supposed to have a sudden distaste for most (all) food? Was he, at this, he swallowed deeply, supposed to be seeing things? 

He tried not to think about the latter. Magical power was passed from mother to child, and it was the mother's duty in Skapina to teach her child how to manage their powers. Puberty supposedly brings on the more potent powers, though he couldn't be certain if the rumor was true. Jozin suspects, but he didn't have any proof, that it was pregnancy that brought along the itch under his skin and the odd auras he felt around Skapina. Not that he had someone to ask on that matter either. 

  
  


Aura wasn't the right word for it either. Everyone in Skapina had some sort of magical ability, whether or not they chose to use it. Something about exposure to the mushrooms, the festivals, and the history of the area, it was told. Any witch can sense if someone has magical ability, it floats around the person in distinct colors. Jozin knew from experience, that healing usually manifests itself as a whitish tinge. The most magical person he knew closely, Sonnio, had auras of distinct shades of blue and purple. What Jozin was seeing now was definitely not healing auras. The whitish shades he saw around people were corporeal forms. They weren't around Master Thaldi, but they were floating about when he walked back to the manor with Preta. Some looked like animals, and while others looked… grossly misshapened. 

  
  


He knew that some of the witches around Skapina dabbled in uncanny arts. Merging animals with other animals was one, creating grossly oversized plants was another. Baba Yaga, the more established among the witches in Skapina was said to practice vivomancy, but her results were controversial, and every Skapinian knew to give her hut on chicken legs a wide berth. Even the Icfeld church, famous for clamping down on magical practices that went against the will of the Goddess, gave her a respectful distance. Not that the Icfeld church had a presence in Skapina, his father had seen to that. The only ones that were left were harmless nuns, studying the medicinal arts and midwifery. Now that Baba Yaga left her hut to follow the battlefield to search for materials for her vivomancy, it could be that he was seeing her experiments gone wild. 

  
  


Perhaps what he was seeing was the manifestation of future familiars. In the last festival, when Mistress Benia and her husband Master Snaufri had debuted their second daughter as a witch, her familiar had manifested itself right as the crowd burst into applause at the young woman's acceptance by the Coven after her stellar display. It revealed itself to be a sparrow, and the newly accepted witch looked ready to burst with tears of joy. Everyone knew her great-grandmother, a witch of some renown, had a sparrow familiar. Familiars were the spirits of the dead come back to guide a love one, and to have share a sparrow familiar with one's witch great-grandmother was a good sign from the Goddess. Though not everyone who had a familiar was a witch. Some people, he noticed, in Skapina left the festival with familiars of their own, though not with that much applause. 

  
  


Jozin had to swallow his disappointment when no familiar came to him at that festival, or any other festival since his mother's death. In a rare show of sympathy, his father had reassured him that he shouldn't worry, "Familiars come to you whenever they chose to and not a moment sooner." his father had said. They also left whenever they wanted. His mother's had been an eagle, who left long before he was born. 

  
  


"Focus." he muttered, staring at parchment again.

  
  


While the Sirens would provide most of the itinerary for the festival, it was his responsibility to open the ceremony. At the last festival, and the festival before that he'd been shy and hesitant, fumbling the notes to the welcoming song. It was kindly excused, as inexperience, but the kind toleration wouldn't last long if he missed a note this year. There'll be whispers among the witches of his ability as Lady Skapina, and a seed of doubt in a Lady Skapina's ability can grow into a massive, unfellable tree. He needed the confidence, and without Surio's lute playing… he wasn't quite sure of his ability to sing. But, never mind that first problem. There was the song he was expected to sing. A leading Coven proposes the theme of the festival upon the end of the welcoming song, and knowing the sirens, the theme of this year's festival would be themed towards the sea.

  
  


"Do you know any sea songs?" Jozin asked, rhetorically to his maids. 

  
  


"I know the fishing chantey." said Gunnla, and opened her mouth to sing before Rana interrupted her. 

  
  


"I don't think he was asking for a common chantey, Gunnla." she frowned thoughtfully, "How about the Selkie and the Fisherman? I remember you liked that song."

"Hm." he said, "I think you liked it more than me." 

  
  


"But it's so romantic!" Rana sighed, "A selkie and her groom! You would get your ivy crown lighted even before the song's done." she gave him a wide grin, "If you do sing that, I promise I'll light yours."

"Why don't you sing it now?" suggested Gunnla, "To see if you like it? My mama always said practice makes..." she trailed off, frowning hard.

Rana rolled her eyes, "You mean, practice makes perfect?" she said, "Why not then, m'lord? I'd like to see you sing it. You don't even have to do magic."

"I don't have melody..." said Jozin, hesitantly.

The younger girl waved her hand dismissively, "You don't need to m'lord, the Sirens probably know this song, and someone would offer to accompany you on the lute." she nodded encouragingly, "Please?"

He sighed deeply, recalling the song to his mind, the song about a selkie that wanted to marry a fisherman. Well, how appropriate, he was supposed to looking for a husband among the Icfeldians, though from what he'd heard they were a dour bunch and hated the theater. They'll not react well to the witches and their festival, if they so happen to come along when it began and as host he'll have to handle the entire mess- He shakes the thought from his head. Now, when was the last time he heard it? It was a summer night, and the traveling bard has started the song just so-

"Once a fair and sweet Seal Lady

Laid her eyes upon land

For to woo her dear Fisherman

And to claim his marriage hand

I have come in from the ocean

I have come in from the sea

And I'll not go back my darling

'Lest you come along with me."

He could feel the air around them shift, like a salty breeze had blown through the room, even though Skapina was miles from the sea. Jozin breathed in the salty air, feeling the warmth of the magic flow through his veins, now, how did the second verse go? It was sung by the Fisherman was it not?

"Lady long have I loved you 

My ship you've blessed among the waves

I would gladly go and wed ye

If you would kindly wed a knave

But I cannot go into the ocean

I cannot go into the sea

I would drown beneath the waves, lass,

If I went along with thee."

And he couldn't quite remember what was in the middle of the song. The selkie and the fisherman did something, but he wasn't quite sure what. He paused his singing, "Sorry, I don't remember what came in the middle." he confessed, embarrassed, "But I do remember the end-"

Rana nodded encouragingly, eyes bright, and he continued, 

"Just before the stroke of midnight

They have made it back to sea

And he slipped into the seal coat

And become a grey Selkie

Now they've gone into the ocean

Hand in hand into the sea

He has gone along

To live with his Selkie"

"Oh, it's so beautiful!" clapped Rana, elbowing Gunnla to clap as well, "You should sing it, I'll help you remember what came before."

"Well, they went and asked someone for help, didn't they?" said Gunnla, wisely, "A witch or some sort, seeing as he's got a seal coat."

"Maybe?" said Jozin, frowning, "If I don't remember, I think I can be forgiven for singing my own verse." he paused, "Thank you, Rana."

She beamed and said, encouragingly, "You have a lovely voice, m'lord, they'll love it."

Sometimes it was nice to have Rana's optimism. "Thank you." said Jozin. Perhaps he'll just pretend he's in his rooms when it came his turn to sing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is based on Heather Dale's the Selkie and the Maiden, though, obviously with the genders swapped and my own edits to the original lyrics.


	20. Valdi

One wishing to pick a bone with Lord Pierre would have many points upon which they can began to nitpick. However, no bone of contention would as blatant and obvious as the dragon's femur which was the way in which Lord Pierre had elected to raised his trueborn son. Valdi was of the opinion the man should have long married, to give Jozin that stability and confidence that he so clearly needed, especially when the Skapinian residents knew him to be a carrier. 

If Lord Pierre had been a sensible man, that would have been the time to remarry or at least ask for the help of the Skapnian mistresses. But Lord Pierre had always been a proud man, hadn't he, so Jozin was left to fend for himself. And of course, his best friend had to be Surio, and of course, Lord Pierre had to fill the boy's head with a fantastic tale of glory and conquest. Valdi had heard enough failed tales of glory and conquests to not be tempted by one, but that wasn't the case for Surio. 

The number of times he had snapped at the boy to get his head back on straight once he'd gotten in his head that he would become Chief was innumerable. Surio did not grew up with the Tastows, and they would not accept him as a Chief, no matter who fathered him. No matter how much he explained that it wasn't just blood that made you a Tastow, the boy refused to listen to reason. And Jozin always hung on to Surio's every word, regardless of how short sighted it was. It was always a cycle of apologies and forgiveness between the two of them. Valdi suspected that had Jozin kept company with the women of Skapina, they would have advised him to, as they would say, pack Surio off. After the whole incident with Milla, Jozin had been rightly hesitant to strike up any friendship with young women. And it would seem that Surio liked to have Jozin to himself, to whisper pretty words and sing sweet songs for, from what he'd seen of their interactions on the archery ground and around Skapina. Jozin was smittened.

It would be inevitable that once Lord Pierre's passes on, or even earlier, that Skapina would be hoisting her flag for some Goddess forsaken war over a Tastow chiefdom. 

He loved all the boys he trained. One couldn't help but be fond of children you've had a hand in raising, and Goddess help any parent who had to bury their child. But Surio's death did not trouble him. Better to lose one child than many. He'd made peace with his sins in his prayers to Her before. If She condemns him for this then he would accept Her punishment.

By comparison to Lord Pierre's actions after the late Lady Skapina's death, Jozin's reactions were, how should one put it, less violent? He was calm, and rational, which was good, considering he seemed to accept the new title without too much fuss. Valdi knew that some in Skapina were concerned the boy would reject the title, and who would then channel Skapina's flowing magic and keep her inhabitants safe? But their fears were not to be, once they were back in Skapina Jozin took on the duties quite well even taking on an active role in planning the witches' festival. He even thought Jozin's idea of moving the people, temporarily, down to Skapina's vast underground for the winter and to avoid any squabble with the Icfeld troops to be a good one. Even the normally active gossipers didn't seem to complain too much of the forced move. The only problem the gossipers seemed to find was that he wasn't quite fitting the role of an expectant mother to be. 

Valdi scoffs at this. How exactly does one judge whether or not an expectant mother fulfilled a role? They seemed to treat pregnancy as an archery contest, the closer one gets to a precise bullseye, the better the pregnancy would be. Which was hilarious, because one can never tell the skill of an archer from how well they performed at a controlled archery competition. He'd seen a well decorator archer near fouled his breeches at the sight of a boar charging at him. Where was his bullseye then?

Jozin never seemed to take anyone's advice on the matter of his carrier status well, and he felt he would overstep his bounds to offer unsolicited advice in any case, so he kept his mouth shut on the matter. Though he did warn the archerboys, no, men, they had seen battle after all, to shut their mouths on the matter of Jozin's pregnancy. He hopes Jozin had seen sense to call a midwife, and that Rana would fetch a Skapinian one, not one of those religious converts from Icfeld. But again, it wasn't his business, and giving unsolicited advice on matters he'd never be afflicted with would be overstepping. 

He deeply regrets not advising Jozin when he was awakened by a thunderous knock on his door from Dremuk one stormy night two months after they'd returned to Skapina. 

"What is the matter with you, you daft boy?" snapped Valdi, irritated at being awoken. 

"Well I was doing my nightly watches and I ran into Gunnla and she'd pale as a sheet and she said she's fetching her mother because-"

"I don't need your life story, boy, what's the matter?"

"Something's gone wrong with the birth." said Dremuk. 

"Shit." cursed Valdi, fumbling to pull his breeches over his nightshirt, "I thought Jozin got a midwife did he not? Damn boy."

"Gunnla got nutty Lida lady." offered Dremuk, and when Valdi cursed even more, said hesitantly, "Is that bad?"

"Yes, that's bad, Dremuk, even you said she was nutty!" snapped Valdi, "No woman in her right mind calls on that loon and her flock of equally foolish acolytes. What was that boy thinking?"

Dremuk had enough sense to shut up and offered him a cloak as he rushed out the door. 

The problem with being unmarried was that Valdi never participated in the birthing rituals of Skapina. He knew of course, how it often went, something like, the husband offers a supporting hand, kind words, and, when the time came, would be the one to cut the child's cord. That was important, the cutting cord bit. Usually midwives would do it, if the husband was not present, or the child's grandmother. That was the Skapinian way. The Icfeld way… he shudders. The Icfelders's obsession with chanting prayers and burning all manners of incense carried over to everything they did, from birth to death. Valdi had been to precisely one Icfeldian funeral that had been enough. No wonder they were a joyless lot, if they came into the world in such a dour manner and was sent off in the same way. And Jozin, bless his innocence and naivety had wanted this? 

Eanwin opened the manor door for them, looking relieved. "You'd best throw that woman out of Lady Skapina's rooms" said Eanwin, "She's doing more harm than good."

"Why didn't you do it?" said Dremuk, and Eanwin gave him a deeply disgruntled look. 

"I would rather not be excommunicated." said Eanwin.

Valdi scoffs, "How pious of her, she should know that there hasn't been an excommunication in Skapina since Lord Pierre threw out the priestesses and priests years ago."

"All of the Icfeldian midwives have the Church's ear." said Eanwin, walking them to the bedchamber, "I don't know what the Lady Skapina was thinking, inviting one of _those_ sorts. Even Warada would make a better midwife."

"Is it going that badly?" said Valdi, concerned.

"Oh yes. She's tossed out Rana and Gunnla. Says no woman's allowed in one except her and her students. Says it's on the Goddess's orders. I don't know if she'll let you in."

Dremuk looked troubled. Valdi shrugged, "I'm willing to take the risk."

The precise number of births Valdi attended was zero, but living in the undergrounds of Skapina, it was easy to hear when a birth was happening. The walls were sometimes thin after all. Which was why, when the three men came around the corner and there was no sound coming from the bedchamber except chanting, he found the hairs back stand up. It was… unnatural. Rana was standing outside Jozin's room, biting at her hands with worry. She looked relieved to see him. 

"You have to do something, Master Valdi." said Rana, coming forward to grip his hands, "I heard her tell them to _shut him up_." 

The latter words were spoken in the girl's broken Icfeldian, and Valdi swallowed harshly. "I'll do that, don't you worry."

He knocked on the door sharply, and when it was opened by one of Lida's acolytes, Valdi took the opportunity to shove his way in. The smell struck him first. It smelled like the medic tents he'd been in, blood, vomit, sweat, and everything else that can be expelled from the human body. The acolytes had surrounded Jozin, keeping him seated with their hands, all the while chanting " _Push, push, push, breathe, breathe, breathe._ "

The candles and incense surrounded the birthing chair were supposed to mask the odor, and calm the mother, Valdi guessed wildly. But what it gave him was an unholy glimpse into the gates of hell. It wasn't helped by the dark colors of the acolytes' clothing either, and the odd way their cloaks folded to look like wings. It was supposed to looked like owls' wings he knew, but now, in the lighting of the bedroom, it looked more like vultures'. 

Lida was kneeling between Jozin's spread legs, and spun around when she saw him. "What are you doing here?" she snapped, "No men-"

"All of you get out!" roared Valdi, pulling out his knife and pointing at the acolytes surrounding Jozin one by one, "Out, out!", at their hesitation, he reached for the thrumming power inside him, the power he held as Skapina's Marksman, he feels a burning behind his eyes, and the acolytes fled, ignoring Lida's angry shouts. 

"Why have you gagged him you idiot woman?" said Valdi, moving to cut whatever contraption the midwife had around Jozin's head. The younger man's eyes were closed, his face pale, and skin clammy. He made no reaction when Valdi removed the gag. 

"It is expressly forbidden by the Goddess for one to use magic during the birth of a child-" recited the older woman, "and-"

"I don't give a shit!" snapped Valdi, "You're in Skapina, you absolute fool, you know everyone uses magic here." he placed a hand on Jozin's sweaty cheek, "Jozin, Jozin, can you hear me? Jozin, Jozin, wake up!"

He saw Jozin's eyelids flutter, and his hand was suddenly pulled into a vice like grip. "It hurts." Jozin whispers, "It hurts so much-"

"Of course it would hurt." said Lida, "If you'd woman up and bear the pain, it'll be over soon. Now _push_ -"

"Shut up!" snapped Valdi, seeing the look of fear in Jozin's eyes, "Haven't you and your little shits done enough damage? He wasn't raised a woman, much less an Icfeldian one, why would your rituals and scorn help?" he gripped Jozin's hand, "Listen to me, Jozin, forget this place, close your eyes." he felt the magic flowing through him, the singing magic that he'd seen the witches practice every festival, the one they used to create beautiful illusions and dreams.

"You are at the archery range. You are pulling the bowstring. Now, inhale." he waited for the younger man's halting breath, "That's good, now, exhale, and let it go."

He thinks Lida must be breathing fire into the back of his head, but he didn't care. "You're a midwife," he said, irritably, "Save your handwringing later, if the Goddess hadn't wanted me here She'd have struck me down by now."

Jozin gave a huff of laughter, which quickly turned into a low moan of pain. Valdi could hear the snap of his teeth and the flush of red on his previously pale face. Even Lida looked suddenly concerned. He could feel a fully body flinch from Jozin when the woman knelt down to examine him. 

"Tell him to breathe slowly." said Lida, "And not to push too fast. I can see the head."

"You hear that, Jozin? It'll be over soon. Breathe with me." 

He wasn't sure if Jozin heard him. The younger man screamed, gripping his hand in such a vice like grip even he winced in pain. "Focus, Jozin, breathe." he said, pushing the pain aside. 

Valdi flinched at the sudden fresh smell of blood, though Lida sounded ecstatic.

"The baby's crowning!" said the older woman.

He'd felt Jozin's magic before, in the battlefield, when the younger man had guided the arrows through the air with deadly precision, and he could feel the magic now, a wild uncontrollable gust. All the candles went out, the windows blew, rattling on their hinges. There were whispers in the wind, voices that sounded like the late Lady Skapina, and her predecessors. Valdi swallowed.

  
  
"Jozin, look at me." said Valdi, and when Jozin turned the unnaturally pale witch blue eyes on him, "Focus, Jozin, focus your energy on something-" he glanced wildly around the room, "the bow Jozin, your grandmother's bow." 

If he had been a witch, Valdi thinks he could probably feel the magic suddenly infused into the bow now, but as it was, all he could tell was that he no longer heard the whispers and the rattling had stopped. 

Squeezing his hand hard again, Jozin screamed, sobbing out, "Tell her to stop!"

"It's a girl!" exclaimed Lida, and it took Valdi some moments to realize that there was no sound from the baby. 

He pried his hand away from Jozin's grip, "What is wrong?" he demanded.

Lida looked upset as she rubbed the baby with a towel. "She's not-"

The blood in Valdi's veins froze. "Give her here." he demanded, angrily, and ignoring the woman's angry squawk, he took the baby into his own arms. He wasn't sure if newborns were this light. Or this small, but he knew they weren't supposed to look that blue. Valdi bit his lip. 

"Breathe, child." he commanded, in the same tones he'd used at the archery range. He reached for his store of magic, willing it to flow into Jozin's daughter, willing breath into her body. It would have been either seconds or minutes, and there came a gasp and a cry from the babe in his arms. He breathed a sigh of relief, and smiled.

Then, he staggered. There was a reason why magic was never usually used during childbirth, but not the reason that the Icfeldians believed it to be, thought Valdi, feeling suddenly very drained. He thinks he must've accidentally tapped into his own magic- his life magic, and he could feel warmth draining from his finger tips. Well. If he died it would repay his life's debts. The last thing he heard was Rana's shout of, "Catch them!" before the candles swayed in front of him and his vision went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah... Gunnla bought someone who had never killed anyone in childbirth, meaning, no one's trusted her to deliver a baby and as such, a very traumatizing experience follows.


	21. Jozin

He wasn't sure who he resented the most. Lida and her piety, Gunnla and her fervent apologies, Rana with her sympathy, the baby's incessant mewlings, or himself for agreeing to the whole mess in the first place. There wasn't even the comfort of his magic within his reach. It felt drained, tired and defeated like he did. He thinks that he should feel something, a warmth, an all encompassing love, adoration when he looks at her. He felt nothing. He couldn't bear to touch her head, to kiss her like all new parents would. The deepest part of him trembled in revulsion looking at the unevenness of it, like a half hatched egg. 

Goddess help him, had he gone mad? Only a few hours ago he'd been ripped open, like someone had taken hot knives to every single organ in his lower body. He doesn't even recognize his body. Everything was either bleeding, numb, or disgusting. His chest was heavy and engorged, leaking whenever she cried. Nursing was supposed to be a holy moment, a bonding moment between parent and child. Everyone said so. Everyone told him so. Instead, he felt like a cow. A bleeding, disgusting cow. But even that was an affront to them, cows do not reject their calves. They loved them. All he did was grit his teeth hard enough to hurt while she nursed from his breasts, his mind a fog of mixed emotions. 

From the confusion of emotions he felt, the one that stood out was relief. Relief that it was over. The entire birth felt like a never ending nightmare, what with Lida declaring that he needed to embrace the pain, and the Icfeldian chanting from the acolytes. He wasn't sure if he even remembered what they chanted, only that every nerve in his body felt like it was set on fire. And the hatred he felt at the midwife's blithe advice. Push into the pain she said, the pain was good, she said. He didn't think he felt so much hatred in that moment, sitting spread legged with her cold hands pushing and prodding at his lower body. He thinks he hated himself more, for agreeing and giving in to Surio's smile and pleads. He wasn't even sure what happened after that, only someone- Valdi, Rana told him later- had removed the gag and that there was an overwhelming surge of magic - called forth or bleeding out, he wasn't sure - surrounding him. 

He didn't remember much after that, and perhaps, that was for the best. Rana was there when he woke, and refused to leave his side even when angry looks and threats were directed her way by Lida. His maid was smittened by the baby, and probably thought it odd, from the looks she gave his way every so often, that he didn't. It came as a relief to him that the news of the birth spread fast and everyone kept their respective distances. He didn't need others to give him the same concerned look. 

And last of all he didn't need to think about picking a new husband. If even Master Thaldi balked at the thought of making one of his father's son a lord, and his sentiment was echoed by Valdi, then it was most likely a bad idea. He feels terrible for the thought, but it wasn't the baby he was dreading in the marriage. It was more of them, and the childbirth that he would inevitably have to endure for that to happen. Did Icfeldians not boast of having massive families? It was already terrible enough having one child. He would drink any number of potions to stop from having any more. He would break any vow or promise to do the same. There was a small voice in his mind that told him, perhaps he wasn't in his right mind, but that part seemed to fade away with each day he stayed under Lida's care and each criticism she levied on him. He wasn't sure if the burning he felt in his veins was from the magic returning or the effect of the childbirth. 

Which was why when Rana told him of Preta's sighting of the group of Icfeldian soldiers coming up the mountain, he ordered his guards to retreat to the Skapinian underground, and a part of him was relieved. He didn't need to make hard choices after all, if, like Surio, he didn't lived to see the results of what came after. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the final flashback chapter.


	22. Nikolas

He woke up the next day to find that his brother had been up earlier and had already requested an audience with Lord Iosef. Well, that put a dent on things. The Queen's threat of excommunication was a new one, she must know how many he'd obtained over the years that never really stuck, so why had she bothered? Did she want Skapina? It was locating on the mountains to the borders to Camaira after all. But the war with Camaira was over with years ago, he'd made sure of that, has been rewarded for it, actually, so why was she so persistent now?

"Are you thinking again?" said Ardich, coming over to offer him another bowl of soup.

"It's very obvious, isn't it?" said Nikolas, he lowers his voice, "She wants me to marry Lord Pierre's son."

"Son?" Ardich frowns, then dawning comprehension came to his face, and he laughs, "Oh, he's a carrier? How about that. All the times you've been accused of sleeping with your carrier soldiers and the Queen now wants you to marry one." he paused, an amused look on his sun-tanned face, "Is he handsome at least? As handsome as-" he leans in and winks, "Elis?"

"One wonders why you're never promoted." said Nikolas, irritably, and Ardich laughs harder, nearly spilling his soup. "I met him yesterday, he'd a child, and he's convinced that we've killed his husband."

"Oh." Ardich sobers, then, just as quickly, "You didn't tell the Queen this did you?"

"No." said Nikolas.

"Then all's well." said Ardich, "You tell her you've married, you present the child as your own, all's resolved. I highly doubt the Queen goes around listening to all the gossips to check, and in anycase, you could always claim the babe takes after the mother, who's to argue that?"

"I don't like lying." said Nikolas. 

"It didn't help you to Sainthood now, did it?" said Ardich, "Look, Nikolas, we all know-" he gestured broadly towards the men sleeping or eating in the manor hall, "you should've been made one, you certainly have the virtue, the skill, the brains- though I'm not sure about that one- and so on and so on. But the Church has got a stick out for you, Nikolas, they won't ever make you one. You bend rules too much for their liking." he slurped the soup loudly, "My advice's the same as those theater mistresses whose's sons you escorted here. Find someone and settle down. Accept that you're going to live like us regular folk." he puts the bowl down, giving a satisfied sigh, "This is a great opportunity. You'll be set for life, I doubt a Lord's husband lifts anything more than a feather, and Skapina's a stable region."

"I doubt the latter." said Nikolas, "But you know how I feel about nobles and their arranged marriages. The Church dragged me to their court for preventing one-"

"Yes, I know, I was there as your-" Ardich waves his hand in the air, "character witness. You don't like it. But have you thought that the ones you helped were the exception not the rule? Some people like following rules- and yes, I know you don't like it- but marrying this lord would give you plenty of freedom to-" he rolls his eyes, "challenge the Church or whatever plan rolls around that head of yours. We've seen how many laws and rules the ladies and lords break. As one of them, you can do the same, but… in a more saintly way." 

"Hm." said Nikolas, noncommittal, looking at the Cook bustling around the manor hall, "Do you know if any of the men speak Skapinian?"

"No." said Ardich, following his gaze, "Though I suspect she must speak some Camairan, I heard her curse something fierce last night in the tongue. And I meant to ask, whatever happened between you and Bartholomew? I've never seen you with a stiffer lip than all those times you embarrassed yourself at Dusk End's dances."

"He sided with Hildegard." said Nikolas. 

"Oh, that's unfortunate." said Ardich, lapsing into silence, "The Cook's coming over right now, why don't you try speaking to her? I for one would appreciate a bath." he looks Nikolas over, "You might've given a bad impression yesterday, looking like that."

"If you speak Camairan so well, why didn't you ask her?" said Nikolas, with some amusement as Ardich scowled at him. They both knew Ardich could only recognize the tongue, not speak it. 

When the Cook came towards them, he got up from his bedroll, offering her what he hoped was a friendly smile. 

"Bonan matenon," he greeted, and when she raised her eyebrows in disbelief, he continued, hoping his Camairan hasn't deteriorated badly, " _I apologize for barging into your Lord's house yesterday. Seeing as your chamberlain is otherwise busy, will you be willing to show me where my men can stay? While your cooking is lovely, and appreciated, I doubt you want to do it for long."_

He thinks she looked pleased at the compliment, and a thoughtful look came to her face. 

" _I did not know Camairan was spoken amongst Icfeldians,_ Ser _._ " said the Cook.

" _It isn't."_ he offered her a short bow, _"I'm Nikolas."_

_"Warada."_ said the older woman, _"I will ask my son to show your men to appropriate lodgings."_ she looked him over, and muttered, half to herself, _"He was supposed to be meeting with Lady Skapina..."_

_"Thank you, Warada._ " he paused, catching on to Warada's last sentence, _"Lady Skapina? Is it not Lord?"_

The older woman flushed, two pin points of red appeared on her plump cheeks, " _Oh dear. I forgot you understood Camairan… Lady Skapina is the title of all rulers in Skapina, it is known,"_ she paused, " _is it not?"_

" _In Icfeld the term is gendered._ " said Nikolas, " _Was it rude of me to call Lady Skapina Lord Iosef?"_

If Warada's sudden laughter was to be understood, he must have severely mispronounced the intonations of Lady Skapina. 

_"You'd have to ask him yourself._ " said Warada, adding, " _We all call him-"_ here she slowly intonated, _"Lady Skapina."_

_"I see."_ said Nikolas, " _Lady Skapina._ "

She shook her head, shoulders shaking, " _You'll get there in time. When I first came here Skapina's tongue was very much foreign to me as well."_

Nikolas hesitated, giving Ardich a quick glance, and at the other man's encouraging nod, said, " _Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?"_

" _Perhaps later_ ." said Warada, "But, _your offer is very much appreciated._ " there was a pause as she looked him over, " _If you would like, my son would also show you the bathhouse."_

She gave him a nod goodbye and bustled away. When he sat down again, Ardich gave him no moment's rest before asking, "So, what was it you talked about?"

"I think..." said Nikolas, "That whatever information the Capital has in Skapina is very outdated."

"Yes, and, what exactly did she tell you?" said Ardich, dismissively, "Information from faraway territories are outdated all the time. Did she accept your offer?"

"For tea? Yes. She said her son would come by to show us nearby lodgings later." said Nikolas, "She said the title of the ruler here is-" he struggled around the words, " _Lady Skapina_."

"Hm." said Ardich, and when Nikolas gave him a questioning look, shrugged his shoulders, "It sounds familiar to me, like a story or something, you know? But I never really listen to stories."

"Of course you don't." said Nikolas, "You prefer to drool over the storytellers."

Ardich pretended to look affronted, but his eyes betrayed him, "You should go see what your brother's up to." said Ardich, changing the topic, "He doesn't seem the marrying type does he?"

"No." said Nikolas, "He's the saving souls for my pious sister type."

"When you die," said Ardich, conversationally, "I bet the Saints would just let you in the gates just to avoid hearing your case."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Approx 50k words later, we can now start on the actual plot. I appreciate all comments, and can be found at [Rosriel Writes](https://rosrielwrites.tumblr.com/).


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